


Angel With A Shotgun

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Geographical Isolation, Guardian Angels, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Isolation, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Superpowers, Violence, fluff throughout, free indirect discourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes always knew he'd go down fighting. He just didn't figure it would go down like this.</p><p>in which Bucky dies, comes back as Steve's guardian angel, and stays with him throughout the events of Captain America: The First Avenger and The Avengers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Get out your guns, battle's begun,  
> are you a saint, or a sinner?  
> If love's a fight, then I shall die,  
> with my heart on a trigger.
> 
> They say before you start a war,  
> you better know what you're fighting for.  
> Well baby, you are all that I adore,  
> if love is what you need, a soldier I will be.
> 
> I'm an angel with a shotgun,  
> fighting 'til the war's won,  
> I don't care if heaven won't take me back.  
> I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe.  
> Don't you know you're everything I have?  
> ..and I, wanna live, not just survive, tonight.
> 
> Sometimes to win, you've got to sin,  
> don't mean I'm not a believer.  
> ..and major Tom, will sing along.  
> Yeah, they still say I'm a dreamer.
> 
> They say before you start a war,  
> you better know what you're fighting for.  
> Well baby, you are all that I adore,  
> if love is what you need, a soldier I will be.
> 
> I'm an angel with a shotgun,  
> fighting 'til the war's won,  
> I don't care if heaven won't take me back.  
> I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe.  
> Don't you know you're everything I have?  
> ..and I, wanna live, not just survive, tonight.
> 
> I'm an angel with a shotgun..  
> fighting 'til the war's won..  
> I don't care if heaven won't take me back..
> 
> I'm an angel with a shotgun,  
> fighting til' the war's won,  
> I don't care if heaven won't take me back.  
> I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe.  
> Don't you know you're everything I have?  
> (I'm an angel with a shotgun)  
> ..and I, want to live, not just survive, tonight.  
> (Live, not just survive)
> 
> ..and I'm gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight.
> 
> They say before you start a war,  
> you better know what you're fighting for.  
> Well baby, you are all that I adore,  
> if love is what you need, a soldier I will be.
> 
> \--"Angel with a Shotgun" -The Cab

* * *

 

Bucky Barnes always knew he’d go down fighting.

Ever since the first day he saw tiny Steve Rogers bleeding in the sun, fighting some playground bully twice his size, he knew. He would do anything to protect that stubborn little punk.

He just didn’t figure it would go like this.

There were at least five of them, punching and kicking, spitting at him, calling him ‘queer.’ He fought with every ounce of strength he had, anger fuelling his fists. But there were just too many of them. Bucky had begun to suspect he was outmatched shortly after they’d entered the alley, but rage combined with stubborn pride in a dangerous cocktail which blazed in his eyes.

He knew he’d made a mistake about halfway through.          

Panic infused his fists. The hits kept coming. He was shoved to the ground, skin scraping the cement. Stars danced across his blackening vision.

Still, he fought on, shouting incoherently. None of them paid him any heed. They just kept laughing and kicking.

At least two of Bucky’s ribs were broken. He was pretty sure his arm was, too. And he didn’t even want to _think_ about what his face must look like.

A weird peacefulness started settling over him. He was dimly aware that the five (six?) men were still kicking him and calling him queer. All he could think as his consciousness faded was _Steve’s not gonna be happy when I get home…_

* * *

Bucky’s eyes shot open. The last thing he remembered was charging into an alley in a blind fury, swinging his fists over and over again at the asshole in front of him. The asshole who’d tried to hurt Steve. And succeeded.

He’d been punching, kicking, words like pepper spray exploding from his mouth. The men had started punching back. After that, everything was a tangled haze of fists.

Bucky wondered if it was a dream. Everything was dark. Maybe he’d woken up in the middle of the night—but Steve wasn’t beside him. There was no blanket. There was— _nothing._ Bucky could feel no floor, no walls, no temperature. No humidity. Nothing. He strained his ears. Normally silence like this would be oppressive, but even the silence in this place carried no weight. Everything seemed frighteningly immaterial except for Bucky himself. Bucky ran his hands frantically up his torso to make sure—he could still feel the crisp material of his shirt, the stretch of his suspenders, the shape of his muscles beneath his shirt. _At least_ something _was real._ “Hello?” Bucky called out, hoping someone would hear him. The ‘hello’ seemed swallowed up by the eerie blackness. “Hello?!” Bucky called out louder. No response.

Bucky pushed himself to his feet, with no idea what he was pushing off of or standing on, or any idea how he was standing. Was there even air to breathe?! “HELLO?! SOMEONE?! ANYONE! HELP!!” His shouts tapered off in the strange milky blackness. How could nothing seem so smooth? Bucky’s pulse raced. He started running aimlessly this way and that, hoping to find light somewhere. “HELP! HELP, SOMEONE HELP!!” Bucky had no idea where he was—maybe he was having a nightmare. Must still be asleep. With a pounding heart, Bucky pinched the skin on his wrist, _hard._ He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, hoping when he opened them again, he’d be lying in his rickety bed, arms around Steve, his warm little body snuggled up to Bucky’s, golden-brown lashes shut in blissful sleep, breathing sweetly against Bucky’s chest, gently stirring his chest hair.

But when Bucky opened his eyes, there was nothing. Icy adrenaline laced his gut. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!!”

[ **Relax** ] commanded a deep, booming voice. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere.

Bucky spun around and around until he was dizzy, trying to find the voice. “WHO ARE YOU?! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

[ **I am nowhere, and everywhere. The more pressing question is, where are _you?_** ]

Bucky felt sick. “HELL IF I KNOW! WHERE _AM_ I?!”

[ **Where do you _think_ you are?** ]

Bucky shook his head, eyebrows knitted together. He well and truly had no idea. “Am I having a nightmare?”

[ **No.** ]

Bucky swallowed past the burning in his throat. “..Did I pass out?”

[ **In a sense..** ]

The icy fingers in his gut curled upward, reaching around his ribcage. “I’m not.. I’m not _dead._ ” The voice stayed silent. Imaginary daggers stabbed his gut. “No..!” He stumbled back. “No!”

[ **I’m afraid so.** ]

“NO!!!” Bucky screamed. _This couldn’t be happening!_ “I can’t be dead, I CAN’T!!”

The voice rumbled in a deep, sardonic chuckle. [ **Yeah, I get that a lot.** ]

Bucky shook his head until he was dizzy. He held his hand between his hands, tears pricking his eyes. “No--!” he whispered roughly.

[ **Yes.** ]

_This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this CAN’T be happening!_

[ **James. It’s already happened.** ]

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!”

The voice considered him for a moment. Bucky could feel the voice thinking. [ **Who do you think I am?** ]

Bucky gulped. “…God?”

The voice was silent, neither assenting nor denying this claim. The voice let Bucky draw his own conclusion before answering, [ **If that is what you’d like to call me.** ]

Bucky fell to his knees. “God,” he began. “I don’t know if that’s really you, or even if I believe in you. Always felt kind of bad about that, since Stevie believes in you so much. I went to church with him every Sunday, just like you said I should. I tried to be good. But I have no idea whether I was any good at that, at being good.

“But you’ve gotta hear me out. Steve can’t make it on his own.” His voice broke. “He tries, _so hard_ to get by, but it’s so hard for him to hold down a decent job. No one wants to hire him, he gets sick so often. He keeps losing jobs because he can’t work for so long. God—he _needs_ me. He can’t buy his medicine without me. He’ll _starve_ without me! He’ll keep starting fights he can’t win, and I won’t be there to bail him out—!” Bucky broke off in a sob.

“PLEASE!! There’s so much greatness in him! He’s so brave, so talented—there’s gotta be more for him than this, there’s just gotta! I don’t care what happens to me. I’m disposable. I’ve always known that. I’m not worth a tenth what he is. And yeah that makes me jealous but I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. I can’t even stop myself from—!” Bucky breaks off, thinking with crippling guilt of all those times he couldn’t stop the fantasies of Steve beneath him, Steve naked in the sunlight with water glinting off of his skin, Steve whimpering his name. He wasn’t proud of the amount of times he’d pumped himself to relief with Steve’s face dancing across his mind. He’d tried to stop for the longest time, but the older he got, the more he couldn’t stop the feelings. Like time only made them stronger. 

Bucky pushed those thoughts away. “I’m sorry!” he choked out. “I’m filth! I know that. I’m sorry. But you can’t let me die like this. You can’t leave him alone like this!! HE NEEDS ME!” Bucky clasped his hands in front of him. “I know I’m a shitty excuse for a Christian. I know I’ve broken every commandment for him, and I’d do it again! But please. _Please!!_ You can’t let me die like this! At least let me say good-bye, make sure he’s okay, set him up with something, I don’t know! But you can’t just leave him alone like this!!”

The voice contemplated Bucky again. He felt waves of unnamable emotions ripple the intangible darkness. [ **Stand.** ]

Bucky’s eyes widened. He was terrified that the voice hadn’t heard him, hadn’t been listening. He clasped his hands harder, knuckles going white.

[ **Stand, James.** ] The voice was commanding, insistent. It bode no argument.

Bucky stood, feeling as though the nothingness was sinking all around him, or maybe that he was sinking into the nothingness.

[ **Your body is too damaged, James. You cannot return to Earth as human.** ]

Bucky swallowed, heart aching, clammy sweat coating his palms. “I don’t care! Send me back as a dog or something! I’ll do anything! PLEASE!!”

The voice rippled with another thunderous chuckle. [ **You will not go back as a dog.** ]

Bucky shook his head, sobbing. “Please--!”

[ **You are granted only one life, James, and you have spent that life foolishly. For someone who claims that someone else’s life is so much more important than their own, you have acted selfishly, and died for selfish reasons.** ] The voice cut off Bucky’s protest. [ **I cannot send you back in your broken body. It is crushed beyond repair. However, there is one thing I can do. I have seen into your heart, James. You desire to protect Steven. You desire many things with Steven, but I can promise you only one. James Buchanan Barnes, it has come to my attention that Steven Grant Rogers is in need of a guardian angel. If you should choose to accept, know that your soul is bound to his forever.** ]

Bucky stared into the void, hardly believing his ears. A second chance! He was getting a second chance! “I’ll take it!!”

[ **This will be no easy task, James. There will be times when even you cannot save him.** ]

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I can! Please!!” Bucky had always known he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Steve is okay, even if that meant dying. The voice was right, he _had_ died stupidly. There was no way he was doing something like that again. He had no idea what guardian angels were, or what they were like, but if it meant he’d be with Steve, he’d take it.

[ **Then, James Buchanan Barnes,** ] Bucky wasn’t standing on anything, but he felt as though he was rising, floating, as though his veins were filled with glitter and firecrackers. His capillaries hurt. [ **I hereby declare you** ] Bucky’s head was swimming. He felt dizzy, weightless. He was finding it hard to breathe. [ **Steven Grant Rogers’ guardian angel.** ] Everything went white.

* * *

Bucky’s eyes shot open. He was lying on his back. Brick walls rose up close on both sides of him. Nearby he could hear rats scurrying. He could smell the faint stench of garbage. Overhead, the sky was gray tinged with pink. He sat up with a groan, hand on his forehead, wiped off his face, and smoothed his hair. _What the fuck did I do last night?_ He felt strange. Like he’d drank an entire bottle of champagne and then smashed himself over the head with it. Bucky pushed unsteadily to his feet, feeling strangely light-headed. He took stock of his surroundings. He was in an alleyway, a few feet away from some overflowing dumpsters. It was early in the morning, too cold to not be wearing a coat, but although Bucky felt the cold, his arms were free of goosebumps. As he looked down to confirm this fact, he startled violently.

There, on the pavement, right by his feet, was the crumpled and battered form of a young man wearing his exact same outfit. His face was swollen and bloody, his clothes torn and dirty. He looked as though he’d had the shit kicked out of him. Bucky was terrified for a moment that it was Steve. He knelt down in shock. The young man was too large to be Steve, though. He was roughly six feet tall. His left arm had been dislocated, his right arm broken in two places. His hands were large and well-shaped, despite their bruises and bleeding fingernails. Bucky glanced up. The man had brown hair, thick and wavy, slathered with styling product. The hair had been mussed by the beating, but there was no mistaking the hair, the outfit, the build—Bucky was looking down at his own dead body. Bucky stumbled backwards, chest heaving. He felt like throwing up, but although his stomach heaved, the heaving was less violent than usual, and he tasted no bile. _Can angels throw up?_

Remembering that weird dream only made Bucky want to throw up more. He leaned over and opened his mouth, but the harder he tried to vomit, the more his stomach calmed. _Guess they can’t._

_And maybe it wasn’t a dream._

Bucky stared down at his corpse. It was unmistakably him. Bucky ran a hand over his face, wondering what to do with the body. The chest was completely collapsed inward. Blood pooled all around. Bucky was going to get himself bloody if he touched it. He looked around the alley. For a surreal moment, he contemplated making a coat out of a trashbag to keep his clothes clean. He discarded this idea though, realizing that Steve would smell the stink on him when he got home. _Steve._ Bucky pushed to his feet. It was morning. Steve might be awake right now, wondering where he was. _It was morning._ Bucky needed to get home and get ready for work.

Bucky felt his pockets. Empty. He gulped past the nothing in his throat and knelt beside his corpse. Fighting back waves of repulsion, he patted the pockets. A rectangular bulge sat on the cold, broken hip of the battered body. Bucky gingerly reached in and withdrew his wallet and keys, and placed them in the pocket of his identical outfit. It was convenient that he’d been brought back wearing something, he surmised. He could have been brought back naked.

Having removed any identification from the beaten pulp of a human beneath him felt slightly reassuring. Maybe no one would be able to identify the body. Bucky didn’t feel comfortable taking that chance, though. He walked around the corpse and grabbed a cold, dead arm. With a grimace, he started dragging his corpse toward the dumpsters. When he was nearly there, he felt someone watching him. Bucky froze. The eyes were somewhere behind him. Bucky slowly turned, the hairs on the back of his neck standing out straight. Glaring at him from the shadows was a large dog with matted fur, ribcage protruding noticeably. The dog’s eyes were rimmed with red. The dog snarled at him, baring yellow teeth.

Bucky dropped the corpse’s arm and took a step back. “Whoa there! You want it? Go ahead.” He kicked the corpse’s leg and took another step back. The dog approached him slowly, growling. Bucky continued stepping back, eyes never leaving the dog. He stumbled over something on the ground, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he was going to trip and the dog was going to eat him. But he caught his balance and continued backing out of the alley. The dog hovered over the body for a moment. Bucky reached the edge of the alley, stepping out onto the sidewalk, hands up. The dog tore into the corpse’s face and started ripping off strips of skin. Bucky turned away with a shudder.

The sidewalk was mostly empty; the city was just waking up. The cool morning air was punctuated with the occasional ringing of alarm clocks. Birds chirped somewhere far away. Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and set off home at a fast pace, shoulders hunched, hoping he didn’t look as bad as his corpse.

* * *

Bucky paused when he entered the apartment and saw Steve asleep on the couch. He must have fallen asleep waiting for Bucky.

Bucky cursed himself internally; he told Steve he’d be back last night. Steve must have been worried. Bucky sniffs himself before approaching; he smells like nothing, with a hint of sweat. Probably a side-effect of spending the night in the void. _Well, at least he didn’t smell like garbage._ Bucky leaned over the couch to peer at Steve’s sleeping face.

Steve was curled up on his side, one arm loosely drooping over his drawing pad. He’d fallen asleep mid-sketch. Bucky’s heart fluttered when he saw the half-finished sketch of his face. The way Steve drew him always made him feel unworthy. Yeah, Bucky was a looker. He knew that. But Steve made him _beautiful._ He perfectly shaded the twinkle in his eyes, caringly sculpted his laugh lines, delicately stroked his pencil along the paper in curves to form his cleft chin. His teeth were never over- or under-rendered, they were always just right, and the amount of care and detail that Steve put into Bucky’s lips and eyelashes—this was the way Steve saw him. It must be. Steve always drew him like this. Such vibrance, such attention to detail.

Bucky looked away from the half-finished sketch to take in Steve’s sleeping face. Steve wheezed a little with every exhale. His lips were slightly mushed to the side, since his face was resting on his arm. His forehead was smooth, his expression peaceful.

With some reluctance, Bucky pushed himself away from the couch and entered his bedroom to shed his outfit and get dressed for the day. He had a moment of panic when he remembered a story he’d heard on the playground, over ten years ago. Someone had said that when you die, if you become a ghost, whatever outfit you die in is what you’re stuck wearing forever. He tugged at his suspenders, terrified. The suspenders moved. He slipped them down over his broad shoulders. They came down easily. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and undressed. _Silly me. I’m an angel, not a ghost._ _But holy shit, am I really an_ angel?

He didn’t _feel_ very different. Not on the outside. And he didn’t _look_ much different, either. In fact, aside from his hair being somewhat mussed, he looked much the same as he had when he’d gone out last night. He washed his face in the sink. _It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay,_ he kept repeating to himself.

He jumped when he heard Steve stirring outside the bedroom. He was coughing gently; the couch springs creaked. He must be waking up. Bucky stared at himself in the mirror, wide-eyed, wondering if Steve was going to notice anything. Steve knocked on the bathroom door. “Bucky?”

“Just a minute!” Bucky said a tad too loudly, fear apparent in his voice. He cursed himself internally.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, closer.

“Yeah. Just a minute, punk!” Bucky added with a smile in his voice. He could feel Steve ease outside the door. Bucky dried off his face and stepped back to open the door, towel in hand, smiling crookedly. “What’s the hurry? Can’t hold your whiz?”

Steve gave him a wry frown and pushed past him. Bucky grinned at the little hands pressing against his chest. Steve strode over to the toilet and looked up at him, hands poised near the opening to his pants. “You gonna watch?” Steve asked, voice gruff.

Bucky took this as his cue to exit, and he did so with a grin, closing the door behind him. He fixed his hair in the mirror in the hall, combing through it to push it back from his handsome face. He smiled rakishly at himself. _Still got it._ He also still had not shaved. Yet, oddly, he noticed he didn’t need to. He shrugged. _I’ll shave later._ He set about cooking breakfast.

Steve entered the kitchen a few minutes later, yawning. “Bucky? What time is it?” His voice was adorably creaky.

Bucky smiled and looked at the clock on the wall. “8:30.”

“8:30? Aren’t you supposed to leave for work at eight?”

Bucky froze, hand over the pan of sizzling eggs. “Shit!”

Steve stepped closer to the stove. “I can do that. You go ahead.”

Bucky dropped the spatula and kissed Steve on the forehead. “Thanks! See you later! Gotta go!” With that, he grabbed his coat and ran out the door.

* * *

Bucky’s first day at work was relatively uneventful. Other than being reprimanded for being late, nothing out of the ordinary happened. His co-workers joked with him like always. He returned home sweaty and tired as the sun was setting. Steve was there, back from his shift at the grocery store and cooking dinner in the kitchen. Bucky crossed their small kitchen with three powerful paces and hugged Steve from behind, pecking him loudly on the cheek. “What’s cookin’?”

Steve pushed him away playfully. “What’s it look like?”

Bucky inhaled deeply. He could smell tomatoes, herbs, and pasta. “Spaghetti!” he breathed out, saliva gathering in his grinning mouth. He had to swallow it down.

Steve stirred the saucepan. “Great observation, genius. Now go change. You smell like a horse.”

Bucky laughed and hugged Steve from behind again, pecking his other cheek with more force than necessary. He released Steve and gave him a mock-salute. “Yes, sir!” He spun on his heel and went to his room to change. Everything suddenly seemed to have so much detail—the patterns on the wood, the dust particles floating in the rosy sunbeam of the setting sun, the musty scent of their scratchy bedsheets. He was sure he would have noticed all sorts of magical things about the sidewalk and the pigeons if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get home. Bucky smiled as he stripped off his socks.

When he returned to the kitchen, Bucky was wearing nothing but a clean pair of pants and suspenders. He tiptoed up behind Steve, who was stirring the pot again, and wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning to rest his chin on the top of that soft blond hair. “Hey,” he said casually, smile apparent in his voice.

Steve stopped stirring and looked down. “You’re not naked are you?”

Bucky grinned. “Maaaaybe.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed. He set the spoon down. “Bucky, it’s too cold. You’ll get sick.”

Bucky nuzzled the top of Steve’s head. “I’ll be fine.”

Steve twisted around in his arms, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Bucky,” he lectured, “You can’t just—oh.” Steve cut himself off, noting Bucky’s suspenders.

Bucky grinned. “I can’t what?”

“Never mind…” Steve turned back around and picked up the spoon again.

Bucky pressed his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. “I can’t what?” he repeated, more insistently.

Steve elbowed him. “You can’t stand in my way when I’ve gotta dump the pasta. Get outta my way, ya big mook.”

Bucky laughed and released him from his hug. “Sure thing, punk!” He watched Steve lift the pot and carry it over to the sink. His anemic arms struggled under the weight. Bucky tensed when Steve looked for a moment as though he was going to drop the pot of boiling water, but Steve recovered and made it clumsily to the sink. Bucky watched the way Steve’s shoulderblades spread, the way his stringy muscles bunched and tensed, the way the steam rose in a swirling cloud from the sink as Steve shook the pasta into the colander in the sink. To think he almost threw all this away.

Steve turned around. “Little help?”

Bucky stepped closer. “Sure.”

Steve picked up the colander. “Need help putting this back in the pot. Could you hold it?”

Bucky stepped close behind Steve and reached around him with both arms to hold the pot, chin close to his hair again. Steve dumped the pasta back into the pot.

“There,” he said, satisfied, and put the colander back in the sink. Bucky stayed there, arms around Steve, holding the pot in the sink, nose in his hair, familiar warmth crackling through him. He didn’t know why he always wanted to stand so close. Steve turned his head to the side. “Bucky? You can put the pot down now.”

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” Bucky set the pot down and stepped away from Steve.

Steve got out a plate and started serving himself. Bucky followed suit. They sat across from each other in their usual spots at the table. Bucky found he wasn’t that hungry. Which was strange, because Bucky realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. He wondered if it was an angel thing.

All through dinner, Bucky couldn’t stop staring at Steve. Steve made a few faces at him, and Bucky snapped out of it every time he did, but he’d find himself staring again soon after.

When they were nearly done eating, Steve glanced up at Bucky with his serious face. Bucky was sure he was going to get some sort of lecture. But all Steve said was “The army’s in town.” The army had been recruiting for months. The more Steve walked past the posters, the more he wanted to go to war. Bucky couldn’t understand why anyone would want to go to war.

“Yeah,” Bucky said in response, as nonchalantly as possible.

Steve gave him his determined look. “I want to enlist.”

“No.”

“Bucky..” Steve warned.

“You are not enlisting in the army.”

Steve frowned, eyes solemn. “People are giving up their _lives_ , Buck.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Bucky…”

“No!” Bucky raised his voice.

Steve sighed.

Foolishly, Bucky thought that was the end of that. He thought he’d won him over with reason, or that he would in time. Bucky was dead wrong.

* * *

Over the next two months, Steve tried to enlist no less than five times. Bucky felt simultaneously relieved and guilty over every rejection Steve received. And each rejection only made Steve more determined to make it in the next time. But after Steve’s last rejection, Bucky decided to distract him from matters of war and take him to Stark Expo. Steve loved futuristic gadgetry almost as much as Bucky did, and no one did it better than Stark. Bucky had two dates set up for them, lovely ladies he’d met recently. Bucky was totally undeterred by the fact that every double-date he ever took Steve on fell completely flat. Steve was ambivalent and didn’t really want to go once he heard it was a double-date, but Bucky insisted.

Once they were there, though, Steve barely paid attention to his date. Not that Bucky paid much more attention to his, since he kept glancing over at Steve the whole time. ‘Isn’t this so much better than being in the army?’ his glance said. Or, ‘See what you’d be missing?’

But one time when Bucky turned around, Steve wasn’t there. Bucky’s gut turned cold. _Shit shit shit shit shit_. He apologized to their dates and set off in search of Steve. He had a sinking feeling he knew where Steve would be. Bucky searched the crowd frantically for him for a gut-wrenching fifteen minutes. He searched the army tent, but Steve wasn’t anywhere in sight. Bucky jumped about ten feet when a small hand tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around and found himself face-to-face with a piece of paper marked 1A. The paper lowered and Steve smiled triumphantly up at him.

“You didn’t,” Bucky said, horrified.

Steve’s smile dropped. “I did.” He notched his chin up. “Told you I could do it.”

Bucky wiped a hand over his face, heart pounding, breaking out into a cold sweat. “Wait here.” Bucky went into the tent.

Steve waited outside, bouncing on his toes. He was disappointed that Bucky hadn’t been more proud of him, but he supposed he may as well have expected that. Bucky had never wanted him to enlist in the first place. But Steve knew he could do it. He knew he was strong enough. It frustrated him when people thought he was weak or frail, when people coddled or condescended him. When Bucky dissuaded him from joining the army, he came dangerously close to doing that, and they both knew it. Steve kicked at an empty cup on the ground. He was so proud he’d finally joined the army. The first person he’d wanted to tell was Bucky. And Bucky hadn’t been happy for him at all.

When Bucky emerged from the tent, he was carrying his own enlistment form. Steve eagerly pored over it. “Hey! We’re in the same regiment!”

“Yeah. How ‘bout that.” Not as though Bucky had done everything in his power to ensure that’s exactly what happened. He pulled away his enlistment form and tucked it in his pocket. “Now that our dates have been completely ruined. You wanna go home? We’ve got packing to do.”

Steve had never been interested in the dates in the first place. He didn’t miss the bitterness in Bucky’s tone. “Sure,” he said a touch too eagerly.

They walked home tensely, side by side, not speaking a word the whole way. Bucky’s jaw was clenched and he stared straight ahead the whole time. Steve was alternately frustrated and worried.

Bucky was seething. He kept mentally yelling at the Powers-That-Be. _How could you let this happen?! You’re sending him off to_ war?! _He’s way too fragile for that! What kind of sick game are you playing?!_

* * *

Bucky was stone silent as they packed up their things. He noticed with a burning feeling in his gut that Steve was smiling to himself as he packed. Bucky slammed a drawer. “Would you stop smiling like that?!”

Steve glanced up at him, surprised. “Sorry,” he said, unsure what brought on that outburst.

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, huffing out a frustrated breath. “The fuck, Steve! How did you get in? What did you do?”

Steve gave him a guarded glance. “They took me in on merit.”

“Cut the crap, Steve! You and I both know they wouldn’t accept you because of your health problems! Why would they suddenly change their mind? What did you _do?!”_

 Steve turned his face away and continued packing slowly. He shrugged a bony shoulder. “Had a talk with someone.”

“A talk,” Bucky repeated tensely.

“Yeah,” Steve repeated levelly, “A talk.”

Bucky moved closer. “Steve,” he warned.

Steve turned around with a sigh. “Yeah, Buck. A talk. They said ‘they might need a little guy,’ all right?”

“What else did they say?” Bucky was leaning over Steve now, voice low and quiet, like the calm before a storm.

Steve watched him steadily. “That’s all.”

Bucky mashed his teeth down on his lips, pulling them inside his mouth until the skin he was biting turned white. He turned around and threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He stepped away and shoved things forcefully into his suitcase.

“That’s all they said, Buck,” Steve insisted, not a trace of falsity to his voice. Bucky almost believed him. _Almost_.

“Sure, Steve. Whatever you say.”

Steve sighed and continued packing.

Bucky closed his suitcase, done. He swiped a hand over his sweaty forehead.

“Hey,” Steve said, standing close behind him. Bucky whirled around. He hadn’t heard Steve close his suitcase. Steve was looking up at him seriously, his plush pink bottom lip quirked up on one side. “Want to take the cushions off the couch?”

Bucky regarded him, anger ebbing away. His lips tilted up on one side despite himself. _Damn kid._ “Sure.”

Steve’s smile spread. Those damn baby blues softened. And then Steve was leading Bucky to the couch, and they were taking out the cushions and spreading them on the floor. Bucky’s heart kept doing these weird little flips which he attributed to the anxiety of his best friend going off to war in the morning. _At least I’ll be there too._ Bucky grabbed some blankets from the bedroom to spread out on the cushions. Steve was already getting undressed when Bucky returned with the blankets. Bucky paused, blankets in hand. His eyes wandered over the tiny, pale form of Steve Rogers. Skin like marble, bones like twigs, limbs like willow branches. He was overwhelmed by a wave of emotions he couldn’t name. The only one he dared single out was the need to protect this precious work of art from any and all harm. Bucky spread the blankets out on the cushions, looking at Steve. Steve climbed into the nest of cushions and held up the blankets, smiling up at Bucky, looking smug and shy and inviting all at the same time.

Bucky shook his head and returned another smile despite himself. He slid his suspenders one by one down over his shoulders. Steve’s clear blue eyes positively sparkled. Bucky attributed this to the smug little squirt being so sure that he was getting his way. But damn him, Bucky was powerless to resist. He shook his head fondly and unbuttoned his pants. He noted with interest that Steve was watching his hands work the button and the zipper. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought of Sarah Rogers. She’d had the same willowy build, the same pale coloring. The same warm smile. She had been every inch a mother. The way she took care of Steve was the way Bucky vowed to take care of Steve in her stead. He needed to emulate her right now. Not think about the way Steve was watching him undo his pants and slip them down his muscular thighs.

Under the blankets, Steve was in nothing but his skivvies. Bucky slid under the blankets next to him wearing nothing but his own pair of thin underwear. Steve immediately snuggled up to him. Bucky’s heart fluttered. He closed his eyes and thought of Sarah Rogers.

“Gonna miss this,” Steve said into the curly hairs on Bucky’s chest. Steve’s own chest was almost completely hairless. He had one small, golden-brown hair next to his left nipple. Steve had the cutest, tiniest, pinkest nipples. Bucky had to fight the urge to lick them every time he saw them. Bucky didn’t know why, nor had he ever wanted to dwell on it. The thought was too strange, too troubling. He knew it was a queer thing to think, but Bucky wasn’t queer. He’d never looked at a man twice. He didn’t want to be with a man for the rest of his life. He liked dating girls, he did. He was a ladies’ man. A real Casanova.

“Me too,” Bucky said, chest constricting, a weird warmth spreading in his gut. Bucky wasn’t queer. He wasn’t.

Steve’s fingers laced together behind Bucky’s back. “Maybe it’ll be quick,” Steve offered. “We’ll be in and out, back by next December, and we can spend Christmas together. Just like we did last year. Wouldn’t that be nice, Buck?”

Bucky cradled the small figure to him, chin resting on top of his head. “You know, it’s not too late to drop out..”

Steve laughed against his chest. “..You know I can’t do that, Buck.”

Bucky closed his eyes and breathed in Steve’s scent. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I know.” He waited for Steve’s breathing to slow, thoughts racing. _Maybe they’ll keep him on the sidelines. Maybe he’ll never even step out on the battlefield. There’s gotta be something that won’t hurt him, right? What are you planning, Big Guy? Why would you let him do this?_

“..Bucky?”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “..Yeah, Stevie?”

A weird jolt ran through Bucky’s torso when he felt those smooth, round lips move into a smile against his chest. Steve hugged him a little tighter. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes filled with tears. He cradled that infinitely precious body closer, nose buried in his hair. “…Course it will,” Bucky lied.


	2. This Isn't A Back Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where have all the good men gone  
> And where are all the gods?  
> Where's the street-wise Hercules  
> To fight the rising odds?  
> Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?  
> Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need
> 
> I need a hero  
> I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night  
> He's gotta be strong  
> And he's gotta be fast  
> And he's gotta be fresh from the fight  
> I need a hero  
> I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light  
> He's gotta be sure  
> And it's gotta be soon  
> And he's gotta be larger than life
> 
> Somewhere after midnight  
> In my wildest fantasy  
> Somewhere just beyond my reach  
> There's someone reaching back for me  
> Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat  
> It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet
> 
> \--"Holding Out for a Hero" -Bonnie Tyler

* * *

 

Basic Training was every bit as brutal as Bucky thought it would be. He didn’t know if it was actually possible for angels to develop stress ulcers, but he felt like he had a few good ones coming along with the way he was watching Steve struggle- and fail- to keep up with the rest of the recruits. Bucky was acing everything. One time he tried to help Steve; Colonel Phillips had them separated from that point onward. He would not allow Bucky within ten feet of Steve while they were training because “I will NOT allow enabling in my squadron! Steve needs to get by on his own! If he can’t, then be glad it’s his life on the line, not yours!” This is the closest Bucky ever came to punching Colonel Phillips in the face, but Steve was looking at him with his _I can do this_ face. Bucky had clenched his fists and set his jaw and ground out “Yes _sir._ ”

Peggy Carter was interesting. She was a gorgeous dame who took no shit from anybody. She had these snapping dark eyes and this sarcastic smile. Bucky could tell Steve liked her. What had Bucky’s gut roiling, though, was that she liked Steve, too. _A lot._ Hell, she ogled him blatantly when he wasn’t looking. She believed in him just as much as Bucky did; no one he’d ever met had believed in Steve as much as he did. Bucky wished he could be happy about this. He wished he wanted to be friends with her; felt like he ought to want that. She was an ally. A very strategically advantageous one, at that. But every time she looked at Steve, he felt like he was sinking in cold water.

Colonel Phillips explained that they were looking to forge a new breed of soldiers, that they were looking for a super-soldier, that basic training ought to be competitive because they were looking for the best candidate among them. Most of the recruits were at least five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Steve. Bucky was terrified for him. He started slowing down, pretending he wasn’t as capable as he was, just so he could keep an eye on Steve, but Colonel Phillips yelled at him. “Barnes! Take the lead out!” Bucky was forced to work harder and leave Steve to fend for himself. He hated it. He hated watching Steve sweat and wheeze and struggle. The punk worked as hard as he could at every exercise, but he constantly fell woefully behind all the other soldiers.

There was another guy, Dr. Erskine. He seemed to also like Steve, to also believe in Steve. He seemed to have almost a fatherly interest in Steve, albeit a distant observant father. The man had kind eyes and a quiet voice. He never said a negative word for Steve. Dr. Erskine was often in the company of Colonel Phillips, watching the recruits train. Bucky liked Dr. Erskine, but he found he couldn’t fully trust him. Maybe it was the German accent. Or maybe it was because there were many times when Steve was clearly exhausted, yet still trying his hardest, and instead of helping Steve, Dr. Erskine just stood by in the shadows, quietly watching.

It was one of these such moments, where Steve was exhausting himself over jumping jacks, and Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine were conferring in the shade, when Bucky nearly had a heart attack (if angels can _have_ heart attacks) because suddenly Colonel Phillips shouted “Grenade!” and everyone scattered and _dammit_ Steve hurled himself straight at the grenade.

“NO!!” Bucky screamed. He threw himself between Steve and the grenade, tossing Steve’s body roughly aside and curling on top of it.

Steve stared at him, stricken, for a split second before hurling his body on top of Bucky’s. “NO!!”

The pair lay like that, with Bucky cringing and curled tightly around the grenade, and Steve curled around Bucky, doing his best to cover Bucky with his tiny body as though he could hold him together, with Bucky telling Steve to get off and go away and Steve refusing, when they slowly realized they’d been there for too long and the grenade wasn’t exploding. Steve realized this first. Bucky thought Steve was relenting and closed his eyes, preparing for whatever happens when angels die, if angels _can_ die, when he heard Steve ask “Is this a test?” and someone else called out “It’s a dummy grenade!” and then Bucky felt relieved and foolish, and he slowly uncurled his body from around the grenade.

Dr. Erskine was staring straight at them. “Come with me, please.”

Steve held out a hand to help Bucky to his feet. Bucky slapped his hand away and stood up without Steve’s aid. Steve looked like a kicked puppy. Bucky sighed heavily and dusted himself off, glaring at Steve. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Steve held his ground. “But I would have saved so many people!”

“You should be worried about saving _yourself!_ ”

Steve shook his head, disappointed. “That’s not what this war is about.”

“I don’t care! You shouldn’t put yourself in jeopardy like that! Jesus, Steve! You’re gonna get yourself killed! This is _exactly_ why I didn’t want you signing up for war!”

“Bucky..”

“No!” Bucky stomped down his foot. “I know you think you can handle it, but you _can’t_ , Steve! You _can’t!_ ” Bucky felt like the lowest scum of the earth when he saw how much those words hurt Steve. Steve had stepped back at each “can’t” as though he’d been slapped. Bucky hadn’t even noticed Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine approaching them.

“If you please,” Dr. Erskine said, causing Bucky to whirl around, fists clenched. Dr. Erskine continued, undeterred. “Both of you. Come with me?” he stated, with quiet authority to his voice. Bucky looked at Steve. Steve nodded at Dr. Erskine very seriously and stepped forward.

Dr. Erskine led them to a building near the edge of the compound and sat them down in a room with four chairs- one each for Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips, and one each for Steve and Bucky. Colonel Phillips crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. He remained standing. Steve and Bucky shared an emotionally loaded glance before taking their own seats opposite Dr. Erskine. Bucky spoke first. “Are we in trouble?”

Dr. Erskine chuckled softly. “No, you are not in trouble.”

Bucky eyed him warily. “Then why are we here?”

Dr. Erskine made a face- eyebrows raised a little, mouth spread out flat, eyes benevolent yet mischievous. “We are looking for the best candidate for the first testing of the super-soldier serum. We have been watching you, and we have almost decided. But, we are unsure..”

Colonel Phillips cut him off. “Barnes is clearly the stronger candidate. He’s brave, strong, determined. He’s aced every test we’ve given him. He’s smart. He takes orders. He’s a soldier. Why you want that skinny asthmatic is beyond me.”

Bucky shot a surprised glance at Steve, who was staring with surprise at Dr. Erskine, who was smiling gently back. “Because we are looking for qualities that aren’t physical,” Dr. Erskine said.

Colonel Phillips huffed. “Barnes has that too. Did you not hear my list of adjectives?”

Dr. Erskine nodded his head. “I heard them. But I still think that Steven is the stronger candidate.”

Colonel Phillips threw his hands in the air. “I don’t see how Rogers is stronger at _anything_. If you want to waste hundreds of thousands of dollars on your little pet, fine. Go ahead. But I’m telling you, Barnes is the stronger candidate!”

Bucky interrupted them, one hand protectively holding Steve’s bony knee. “Hang on. What exactly does this thing _do?_ ”

Dr. Erskine turned his kind smile to Bucky. “It amplifies what is inside. Good, becomes great. Bad, becomes worse. Strong, becomes stronger.”

“So you’re telling me it would make him even more ‘Steve’ than he already is.”

Dr. Erskine made that odd face again, eyebrows up, mouth spread. “In a sense.”

Bucky’s hand tightened on Steve’s knee. He shifted closer. Bucky was unaware of both of these things. “What about asthma? It wouldn’t make his asthma _worse_ would it?”

Dr. Erskine gave them a shuttered look, expression unreadable. “In theory, it would fix any physical imperfections. So, the asthma, the color-blindness, the proneness to illness, would all go away. His—”

Bucky cut him off right there and jumped to his feet. “Give it to Steve.”

Steve frowned. “I—”

“Give it to Steve!” Bucky ground out, stepping closer to Dr. Erskine. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. He does. Give it to Steve.”

Colonel Phillips stared at Bucky with disbelief, anger, and disappointment.

But Bucky wasn’t looking at Colonel Phillips, he was looking at Dr. Erskine. “Please,” he added, as though this was the magic word that would grant Steve everything he not only deserved, but needed.

Dr. Erskine smiled a little smugly at Colonel Phillips, then smiled kindly at Steve, eyebrows raised. “And do you want this, Steven?”

All eyes were on Steve. Steve glanced at the angry and disappointed Colonel Phillips, at the pleading and insistent Bucky. His eyes rested steadily on Dr. Erskine. “Yes,” he finally said.

Dr. Erskine smiled widely.

Colonel Phillips stormed out.

“He will get over it,” Dr. Erskine assured them.

Bucky looked uncertain.

Steve was still watching Dr. Erskine. “So when does this happen?”

“Tomorrow,” Dr. Erskine answered. “Which means you cannot eat or drink anything starting,” he looked at his watch. “Now.”

Bucky shifted uncertainly. “What about me?”

Dr. Erskine raised his eyebrows at Bucky. “What _about_ you?”

“What happens now?” Bucky stepped closer to Steve. “Where does he go? What are you gonna do to him?”

Dr. Erskine glanced between the two of them. He observed that despite their fight earlier, Steve was subconsciously leaning closer to Bucky, and Bucky was hovering protectively over Steve. He smiled privately to himself. “Well, Steven gets a solid night’s sleep, and in the morning, he comes with me and Colonel Phillips to the laboratory, escorted by Agent Carter. From there, we proceed with the serum.”

Bucky tensed almost imperceptibly at the mention of Agent Carter. “Can I come too?”

“Bucky,” Steve began.

Bucky stood closer and repeated himself.

Dr. Erskine smiled gently at Steve. “Is that what you would want? For him to come with you?”

They both stared at Steve until he answered, eyes on Bucky. “Yes.”

Dr. Erskine nodded. “Then, yes. He can come with you.”

* * *

Colonel Phillips was frustrated enough that Agent Carter was coming along. He understood her function, but he still felt it was unnecessary. He flat-out refused to let Bucky come along. Bucky and Steve both protested, Bucky with more vehemence than Steve, but Colonel Phillips said no. Dr. Erskine quietly mentioned that it would put Steven at ease, and this was needed for the experiment to go well. Colonel Phillips frowned into the distance. It was Peggy who suggested they take two cars. She would ride with Steve and Bucky, and Dr. Erskine could ride with Colonel Phillips. Everyone was happy with this solution. For the most part. Bucky wasn’t wild about being in a car with Peggy and Steve, especially since although he was sitting next to Steve in the backseat, Peggy was turned around practically the entire ride flirting with Steve. Steve fumbled adorably- Bucky felt a little bad for him- but he clearly liked her. That was the thing that bothered him. It struck Bucky that they were very well-suited for each other. The car ride seemed to go on forever, even though it couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes.

Bucky was relieved when they entered the secret army building and walked into the underground laboratory. At least he wasn’t alone with Peggy and Steve anymore.

Dr. Erskine pulled Steve aside to speak quietly to him for a while. Peggy smiled tensely at Bucky. Bucky smiled bitterly back at Peggy. They watched Dr. Erskine speak to Steve. Then Steve was climbing into the machine. Bucky strode over to him, clearly worried. Yeah, Bucky loved new technology, but he never expected it to be used on _Steve_. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if this was safe anymore. He ignored the uneasy technicians telling him to step away and leaned over Steve. “It’s gonna be okay, Stevie,” he ground out, caressing his face. “It’s gonna be okay..”

Steve smiled up at him. “I know, Buck.” His gaze was steady, his voice sure.

Bucky cupped Steve with both hands, eyes darting over and over his face. “Steve…”

Dr. Erskine laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder; Bucky jumped away from Steve and whirled around to face him. Dr. Erskine smiled kindly, but somewhat uneasily, at him. “He will be fine.” Bucky and Peggy were ushered by lab technicians up some stairs to a glass-walled room. Bucky looked back at Steve every two feet.

Peggy stood next to him. Her eyes were fixed on Steve until the machine closed. Then she glanced over at Bucky. “You really care about him, don’t you,” she observed.

“Yes. I do.” Bucky never took his eyes off Steve, even after the machine closed.

Peggy smiled tensely. “Must be hard.”

Bucky was silent as Howard started throwing switches and the machine lit up.

“Feeling that way,” Peggy added.

The machine started humming. Bucky’s face was set in a deep frown.

“-About him,” Peggy finished. She glanced at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky was only half-listening to her. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They both stared at the machine. Then Steve started screaming.

Peggy paled. “Shut it off!” Howard looked at her uncertainly. “Shut it off!!” she repeated, louder. Steve kept screaming. Bucky was clinging to the railing so tightly his knuckles were white.

Dr. Erskine looked between the two of them, then at the machine. “Shut it off,” he agreed.

“No!” Steve objected from inside the machine. “Wait! I can do this!”

Dr. Erskine looked uncertain. Howard’s hand was poised on the off switch. Peggy was staring at Howard, pleading.

Bucky let go of the railing and cupped his hands to amplify his voice. “If Steve says he can do it, he can!! What are you waiting for! DO IT!!” he bellowed.

Howard glanced at Dr. Erskine, who nodded. Howard threw the last switch and cranked the machine up to full power. Blinding light flooded the room. Steve continued screaming, then abruptly went silent. Bucky was biting his knuckles so badly they were bleeding. Beside him, Peggy was clinging to the railing for dear life. Slowly, the light dimmed and the machine started moving upright. Bucky and Peggy raced down the stairs and came to a screeching halt in front of the machine.

The machine was now fully upright, with Steve still inside. He was completely silent. Bucky’s heart was racing. The doors to the machine opened slowly; mist poured out. Bucky had to squint to see. Dr. Erskine and Howard Stark unstrapped Steve from the machine and helped him stumble out as the mist cleared, and suddenly the room seemed to be holding its breath. Steve was—Steve was—

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. Into the machine had stepped his pale, miniscule, bony friend. And out of the machine stepped a six-foot-two, perfectly sculpted, blond, tan— _holy shit._

Peggy stepped closer and reached out to touch Steve’s newly perfect pectorals. “How do you feel?” she asked, clearly mooning over him. But then, so was everyone else in the room.

“Taller,” he panted. His new muscles were glistening with sweat. Bucky wanted to lick them. Which was very strange and he decided not to dwell on it. Steve’s eyes searched the crowd dazedly before landing on Bucky. He was panting, full reddened lips parted, blue eyes heavily shaded by thick lashes. Bucky’s mouth was suddenly very moist. He had to swallow several times past the saliva that kept gathering there. Steve smiled at him.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Something exploded, guns started shooting from every which way. Someone threw a t-shirt at Steve, which he pulled on hurriedly. He scanned the room, confused. Bucky stood at Steve’s side, unable to stop looking at him. Bucky dimly realized that Peggy was shooting her gun as well.

Suddenly Dr. Erskine fell to the ground. Steve knelt over him, shocked and worried. He didn’t know what to say. Dr. Erskine weakly pointed at Steve’s chest. Steve didn’t understand. Dr. Erskine pressed his finger between those perfect pectorals again. Steve understood. Bucky stood by uncertainly. Dr. Erskine’s eyes went blank and he laid back, completely limp. Steve gently set him down and scanned the crowd, locating the shooter. He immediately took off after him.

Bucky followed. “Steve!!”

But Steve didn’t listen to Bucky’s repeated calls. Steve dashed down the street with surprising speed, jumping on cars- “Steve!!” –crashing through store windows- “Steve!!” –dodging traffic, barely escaping being hit by cars- “Steve!!!” but Steve just kept going, relentless. It was all Bucky could do to keep up. _That was new._

When Steve finally stopped, he hid behind a large metal drum. The man was shooting at them. He held a child in front of him, held hostage. They heard a splash. Steve jumped out from behind the metal drum and raced to the edge of the pavement, looking down into the channel where the child was swimming safely. “It’s all right! I can swim!” Steve nodded at the kid and took off after the gunman.

“Steve!!” Bucky ran after him, starting to get tired. The gunman dove into the water. Steve dove in after him. Bucky stood at the edge of the water, unsure what to do. He debated jumping in after them, but guns can’t shoot underwater, and Steve was always a good swimmer. He could see shapes under the dark churning water, but not well enough to make out what was going on. He jogged alongside until he was forced to walk because his body just couldn’t keep up anymore. Two figures exited the water and leapt impossibly onto the pavement. Bucky didn’t know what they’d souped Steve up on, but he knew humans shouldn’t be able to leap like that.

By the time he caught up to them, the gunman was on the ground, saying “Hail Hydra!” and his mouth was frothing, and seconds later the guy was dead. Steve looked stricken. He also looked like something out of a dirty magazine with the way that too-small white t-shirt was clinging wetly to his muscles.

Bucky stood beside him, eyes scanning over his body. “You okay?”

Steve panted. “Fine, Bucky.”

“You really ought to be wearing shoes.”

Steve gave him a _seriously?_ look.

“Sorry.”

Steve stared down at the corpse.

“Who’s Hydra?”

“No idea.”

* * *

Colonel Phillips was enraged when they returned to the laboratory. The entire building was trashed. Colonel Phillips had been looking forward to an entire army of super-soldiers, and because of the lab being destroyed, Steve was the only one they’d ever be able to create. And Colonel Phillips had never wanted it to be Steve in the first place, which he outright stated. That was the second-closest Bucky ever came to punching Colonel Phillips in the face.

After the colonel stormed out, this greasy-looking guy in a pinstripe suit approached Steve and told him Colonel Phillips was all wrong about him. “I seen what you did back there,” the guy says in less-than-proper English. “You were amazing!”

This made Steve feel slightly better.

“How would you like to fight on the most important line of this battle?” the guy offered.

“Sir,” Steve returned sincerely, “That’s all I want.”

Thus, Steve was promoted. The promotion had its ups and downs: the upside was that Steve was taken out of harm’s way. Steve was assured that he was doing something important, that he’d made headlines and become a national symbol, that he should embrace it, that it was good for the war. And for the most part, this turned out to be true. But the downsides made the whole thing feel as though it wasn’t worth it. Steve was touring the country, selling war bonds in this ridiculous star-spangled outfit that Steve hated. Steve felt extremely awkward onstage. He felt like a fraud. But bonds took a ten percent bump in every state he visited, so he acknowledged that like it or not, he _was_ helping.

For Bucky, it was hell. Bucky wasn’t allowed to come with Steve. Being separated caused him physical pain. He couldn’t fight the feeling that everything he did was wrong, the universe itself was wrong, they shouldn’t be apart like this. _Must be a guardian angel thing._ He worried about Steve constantly. Didn’t help when their regiment was shipped out overseas without Steve, and Bucky found himself fighting on the front lines.

The first battle was terrifying. Bullets were flying at them from every which way. The trenches were crowded and never felt the right depth. Everyone was shouting. People fell abruptly dead at the least expected times. Bucky himself was shot several times. The first bullet was the scariest. It tore straight through his arm. He clung to the hole in his shirt and stumbled to safety, cowering behind a wall. But to his complete and utter surprise, there was no pain. He expected he was in shock, and treated himself accordingly, but as soon as the initial shock wore away, there was still no pain. He lifted his hand away to ease the pressure. There was no blood. He blinked at his clean palm. Glanced at his arm. There was a hole in his sleeve on both sides where the bullet had torn through, but his skin was completely unmarred. Bucky didn’t have time to let the implications sink in because someone was calling to him and beckoning desperately for him to rejoin the battle, so he charged straight back into the battlefield and started shooting again. He was shot again, and again, several times, but he just kept shooting because he felt no pain. His clothes were riddled with holes, but his body was completely fine.

The soldiers started referring to him as “Lucky,” because no matter how many times he was shot at, the bullets only ever seemed to graze his clothes and bounce off. They joked about him being bulletproof; this wasn’t far from the truth. Bucky found that he actually _was_ bulletproof. He didn’t know how, but somehow, the bullets were going straight through him without hurting him. The only care he ever needed after battle was to mend his uniform.

The second battle was equally interesting. Bucky tore his leg open on a piece of jagged metal sticking out of the ground. He hadn’t seen it; he’d been too focused on running as fast as he could. Bucky was sure for a moment that he was going to bleed out over this stupid piece of rusted metal, that this was the end for him, he was going to die a soldier on a battlefield because of a cut on his leg because he was too damned stupid to watch where he was going. But to his complete and utter surprise, his leg healed almost instantly. His pants leg was torn to shreds, yet he watched as the skin on his leg closed up, the blood stopped, and all that was left behind was some dirt. His leg appeared completely unaltered.

Bucky cut or scraped himself a few times after that, in latter battles, and each time, the cuts healed almost instantly. Bucky started getting bolder, fighting more viciously. His squadron cheered him on. “Lucky” was often the center of congratulations after battles, when they gathered to drink in the tavern. Soldiers would proclaim the amazing feats “Lucky” had accomplished. Bucky would smile and go right along, exaggerating their tales right along with them. Let them have their hero. It distracted from the gaping pain of Steve not being there, gave the soldiers some hope. “Lucky” was often the object of toasts. Bucky enjoyed being the center of attention. He relished their praise. But every night, he would modestly lean back from the circle of admirers and protest, citing their merits as well, pointing out the amazing things they’d accomplished on and off the battlefield. The soldiers all laughed and pretended they didn’t love the praise, but all of them did.

Bucky worked his way up through the ranks this way, until he wasn’t fighting out on the front lines anymore. He’d developed a sharp eye and a steady hand; Colonel Phillips gave him a sniper rifle and neither of them ever looked back. Bucky was a near-perfect shot. He never missed a target. Sometimes he’d hit slightly askew because of sudden movement on the target’s part, but point is he always hit the target.

By the time Steve returned, “Lucky” Barnes had been promoted to Sergeant.

Everyone was abuzz when “Captain America” returned to the army base. He had just performed for the nearby 107th, and he looked anything but happy to be back. Despite the crowd of cheering soldiers welcoming Steve back, Steve was sullen, his eyes haunted. He made a beeline for Bucky the moment he located him. Bucky did likewise.

The two men did not embrace. They barely spoke a word. They just stared at each other, Steve’s eyes tired, frustrated, angry, determined, but slowly warming over Bucky’s presence. Bucky’s eyes were worried, elated, relieved, reading Steve like a book.

“Sergeant,” Steve greeted, noting the marking on Bucky’s coat.

“Captain,” Bucky returned with a smirk.

Steve smirked ironically, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “A word?”

“Course.”

Steve led them away from the center of camp. The sky overhead was gray. It started sprinkling as they reached the edge of camp. Steve led them under a pagoda and sat down heavily.

Bucky sat beside him, allowing their knees to touch. Steve was hunched over. Bucky hunched over as well. “What’s eatin’ you?”

Steve stared down at his folded hands. “Most of the 107th has been killed or captured.”

Bucky let out a low whistle.

Steve looked out at the rain, which had begun to fall earnestly. “My father was in the 107th.”

“I know, Stevie.”

“He died of mustard gas.”

“I know.”

“I have to help them.”

“Stevie—,”

Steve pinned Bucky with a determined look. “They have _families,_ Buck. There’s not even a guarantee that they’re dead, and the army is doing _nothing_ to rescue these men.”

Bucky examined Steve’s face- eyes feverish, snapping with stubborn will, jaw set. Beautiful as ever. Bucky smiled wryly; it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know rescuing them isn’t going to bring your father back.”

Steve sighed. “I know that, Buck.”

Bucky nudged closer, pressing the side of his thigh against Steve’s, elbows touching. Shoulders brushing. “I can’t stop you, can I.”

Steve’s mouth was set. “Nope.”

Bucky pressed more firmly against Steve’s side. “…When do we start?”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. Some of the frustration drained away, replaced by sparkling determination. He almost started to smile.

“Gentlemen,” Peggy greeted, making both of them jump. She stepped closer, closing her umbrella. “Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing,” she said crisply. She looked directly at Steve. “You’re going to need a ride.”

Steve’s mouth tilted up. “You offering?”

Peggy smirked. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

* * *

Peggy, as it turned out, had connections to Howard Stark. And subsequently, she had connections to private aeroplanes, which is exactly what Howard piloted in with Steve, Bucky, and Peggy in the back, to drop off Steve and Bucky in enemy territory. “You’re sure you don’t need more backup?” Peggy had asked before they left.

“It’s easier to sneak when there’s only two,” Steve had responded. Bucky had fully agreed.

The ride over was extremely awkward. Howard kept trying to fill in the stillness and break the tension by making jokes and fast-paced comments. Peggy responded tersely, watching Steve and Bucky. Bucky watched Steve and Peggy. Steve was in his own little world, strategizing or fantasizing or whatever the hell he was doing. He wasn’t looking at anybody. Howard offered to take Peggy out for a late-night fondue after dropping off Steve and Bucky. Steve snapped to attention and frowned between Howard and Peggy. “Fondue?”

Peggy smiled at Howard and said that sounded fantastic.

Steve was still looking between the two and frowning. “Do you two..?” He motioned vaguely with his hands. “…Fondue?”

Bucky realized the reason for Steve’s confusion and burst out with a loud belly laugh. Steve only looked more confused. Peggy frowned at him. Bucky fell over, crying and laughing, holding his stomach. Steve cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly.

Then, there were bullets shooting at the plane. Howard shouted over them and said they were getting close. But Steve was standing and strapping on a parachute. “I’m not going to put you in that kind of danger. I can walk from here.”

“But it’s ten miles!” Peggy objected.

Bucky wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, quickly sobering. “Ten miles is nothing. He can take it.” Bucky strapped on his own parachute.

“You’re sure,” Peggy asked uncertainly.

“I’m sure,” Steve stated, stone-certain. He opened the door, surveyed the ground briefly, and jumped out. 

Bucky followed. He held his breath until Steve pulled the strings on his parachute. He tugged at the strings on his own parachute. It wouldn’t budge. He tugged again. No dice. Bucky swore loudly and kept tugging at the straps to his parachute, watching Steve in panic.

Steve drifted safely in the direction of the wind, probably enjoying himself.

Bucky cursed all the way to the ground, where he crashed down heavily—or he expected to, anyway, but what happened was he phased _through_ the ground and next thing he knew he was surrounded by dirt. Bucky panicked and attempted to claw his way to the surface. He couldn’t find purchase on the ground. And then he could, and he was clawing aimlessly at dirt but not getting anywhere. He cursed loudly. He needed to get to Steve. Bucky pushed frustratedly at the dirt as though he could launch himself above the ground by sheer willpower. To his great surprise, this is exactly what happened. He blinked, sitting on the ground, hair mussed. He heard Steve shouting his name in the distance. Bucky unstrapped his useless parachute and tossed it to the ground. Steve jogged up to him, worried. “Bucky!”

Their eyes met. “I am _never_ jumping out a plane again,” was all Bucky said.

Steve laughed and helped him to his feet, then brought him into a brief hug. Bucky tensed, then slowly relaxed against him. Steve hugged him tighter and let go, grinning. “Ready?”

Bucky nodded. “Ready.”

* * *

The rescue was largely a success. Steve managed to find all four hundred men. None of them were dead. A few high-ranking soldiers had been experimented on; they were found in bleak rooms in various stages of blubbering near-insanity. All four were extremely grateful to be rescued. “That’s the last of them,” Bucky stated, but Steve wanted to make sure. He wandered all the way to the back of the factory, poking his head in every room. Only once he was satisfied that he’d looked in every room in the entire building did he agree that they could find their way out.

Unfortunately, the way out was blocked by a large room which was on fire. Things exploded below at random intervals as the room overheated. A menacing man stood on the other side of the room, taunting Steve. Turns out he’d been pumped up with a prototype of the serum which Steve was infused with. To their great surprise, the man’s face turned out to be a mask, beneath which lay the grotesque figure of a bright red skull. The man was wearing a Nazi uniform. His name was Smitty or something, Bucky didn’t care, the room was on fire and exploding and they _really needed to get out of here._ Creepy Skullface exited dramatically in an elevator with some parting barb that Bucky wasn’t listening to. The only way out, from what Bucky could see, was by following him.

Too bad when Creepy Skullface left, he took the bridge with him, leaving only a metal beam.

“You first!” Steve insisted.

Not wanting to argue and thus prolong their time in the fiery room of death, Bucky made his way across the beam. The damn thing started collapsing halfway across. He had to leap to the other side.

Steve looked around hopelessly. He glanced down at the fire. He looked at Bucky. “Just go!” He motioned with his hands. “Get out of here!”

“NO! NOT WITHOUT YOU!!” Bucky clung to the railing, hating the irony of the situation, hating that Steve would offer to sacrifice himself for any reason whatsoever, hating the idea that Steve had no idea Bucky was already dead and that saving him was pointless. Bucky looked around, losing hope. “There has to be a rope, or something!” There had to be _something_ he could do! His mind was racing. Could he fly? Could he somehow bring the beam back up? Could he put out the fire? _Anything?_

Steve looked around briefly, then bent back the railing.

_Oh, you are NOT doing what I think you’re doing!_

Steve backed up as far as he could.

Steve took a running leap over the inferno, legs paddling in the air. Bucky panicked and shot a beam of _something_ below Steve to propel him upward and forward. The cushion of energy boosted Steve over the fire and across the opening. He crash-landed onto Bucky, whose hands were still out in front of him, whose eyes were still staring wide-eyed at Steve as they crashed into the metal framing on which Bucky had been standing. Steve laid on top of him for a few seconds, grinning and breathing heavily. “Still think I can’t take care of myself?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve laughed and punched Bucky in the shoulder. “I made it, didn’t I?”

“We can talk about this later. Let’s get out of here.”

Steve nodded in agreement.

They got to their feet and ran out of the building hand-in-hand.

* * *

Steve and Bucky led the rescued soldiers back to camp. Bucky had asked if Steve was going to return them to the 107th to which Steve had replied “Nope!” because if the 107th wasn’t even going to put forth the effort to rescue them, they didn’t deserve these soldiers. Bucky heartily agreed.

Their reception at camp was downright theatrical. Everyone gathered around them and cheered. Bucky made sure credit was given where it was due. “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” he shouted, only a little sarcastic. Everyone cheered and clapped and whistled.

Peggy was slightly miffed. “You’re late.”

Steve pulled the broken communicator out of his pocket. It had broken when he crashed into Bucky in the fiery warehouse. “Couldn’t call my ride.”

Bucky looked at her smugly. He’d been the one who helped Steve back to camp, not her.

Peggy ignored him and smiled at Steve.

Bucky clapped Steve on the back and left his hand there, challenging Peggy with his eyes. He grinned at Steve. “Well done, Captain! Once again, you’ve done the impossible.”

Steve grinned at Bucky.

Bucky started up another rousing cheer.

Colonel Phillips approached them, surprised, impressed, and apologetic. “Captain America!” he called. Steve turned to Colonel Phillips, grin faltering. Colonel Phillips closed the distance between them, standing next to Peggy. “You disobeyed direct orders.”

“Yup.”

“You put my star sergeant’s life in jeopardy.”

Bucky stood closer, indignant. “I can do that just fine on my own!”

Colonel Phillips glared at him and continued. “You went thirty miles behind enemy lines with only one other person as backup, and _you,_ ” he said, turning to Peggy, “helped him do it!”

Peggy nodded, a little scared, but clearly not regretting her actions.

“You all understand that I am in a position of authority over you and I can fire your asses at any given time.”

Peggy nodded. Steve clenched his jaw and nodded. Bucky stared at Steve and nodded.

“Luckily, this turned out well for you. But for godssakes _listen_ to me goddammit!”

All three nodded.

“Barnes, you’ve been promoted,” the colonel stated gruffly.

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise.

“From now on, you respond directly to Rogers. Frankly I don’t want to deal with either of you. But you’re both war heroes now, boys. So stick together and stay out of my hair.”

Both men saluted. “Yes sir!”

“And _you,_ ” the colonel said, turning to Peggy. “Come with me. We are about to have a talk that you are _not_ gonna enjoy.”

Peggy swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.” She shot a glance at Steve before walking after the colonel. Bucky fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her.

“Think she’s in trouble?” Steve asked, watching them leave.

“Probably.” Bucky hoped she got a good talking-to. He realized he was being petty but feelings are feelings and he saw Steve first.

“Should I feel bad?”

Bucky clapped him on the back again and left his hand there longer than necessary. “She made her own decision. She acted of her own accord. She earned any shit she gets for it.”

“Yeah,” Steve hedged, “but she was helping me…”

“Somebody’s got to.” Bucky nudged him with his elbow and stood closer.

Steve rolled his eyes and smiled. “Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve pulled him into a hug.

Bucky blinked, not expecting this. He awkwardly reached around and patted his back.

Steve pulled away, smiling. “Missed you, Sarge.”

Bucky beamed. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Stevie. Been here the whole time.”

Steve pushed at his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Yeah but I haven’t.”

Bucky’s smile softened. “What’s a few months between friends?”

Steve pulled him into another hug, tighter this time. “Felt like forever.”

People were watching. Bucky blushed and fought the urge to completely melt against him. He patted Steve tentatively again. “Yeah,” he agreed, heart aching though he didn’t know why and refused to think about it. “It did.”

“Hug me back dammit!”

Bucky laughed and gave him a quick squeeze with both arms, then stepped back. “We have an audience.”

Steve sighed and let go. “You have a tent?” he asked too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Bucky tilted his chin proudly. “All to myself,” Bucky replied just as quietly. He appeared uncertain for a moment. “Though, now that I’ve been promoted, I’m not sure how that’s going to work out.”

Steve nodded. “Can we go there?”

“Later,” Bucky promised. He didn’t want everyone to think they were queer. They’d already run that risk by embracing in front of everyone like that. He could feel the probing eyes questioning exactly how close the two men were. Didn’t need to fuel that fire.

Steve scrutinized Bucky’s face. “Later,” he agreed.


	3. If Only he Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't imagine life without your love  
> Even forever don't seem like long enough
> 
> 'Cause every time I breathe I take you in  
> And my heart beats again  
> Baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning in your love  
> Everytime I try to rise above  
> I'm swept away by love  
> Baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning in your love
> 
> Maybe I'm a drifter  
> Maybe not  
> 'Cause I have known the safety  
> Of floating freely in your arms  
> I don't need another lifeline  
> It's not for me  
> 'Cause only you can save me  
> Oh can't you see  
> I can't imagine life without your love  
> And even forever don't seem like long enough
> 
> 'Cause everytime I breathe I take you in  
> And my heart beats again  
> Baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning in your love  
> Everytime I try to rise above  
> I'm swept away by love  
> Baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning in your love
> 
> Go on and pull me under  
> Cover me with dreams, yeah  
> Love me mouth to mouth now  
> You know I can't resist  
> 'Cause you're the air  
> That I breathe
> 
> 'Cause everytime I breathe I take you in  
> And my heart beats again  
> Baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning in your love  
> Everytime I try to rise above  
> I'm swept away by love  
> And baby I can't help it  
> You keep me drowning your love
> 
> \--"Drowning" -Backstreet Boys

* * *

Later, after Captain America and “Lucky” Barnes had basked in the center of the revelry, and both failed to get drunk no matter how much alcohol they drank at the bar, they went out to Sergeant Barnes’s tent, which, upon entering, they found now had two beds in it. “Guess I’m sleeping with you,” Steve said without thinking anything of it. In fact, he sounded happy and relieved.

“Guess so,” Bucky agreed, cheeks hot, trying not to think about the innuendo. He closed the door to his tent and loosened his tie. “You bring any clothes?”

“All moved in,” Steve noted, toeing the trunk at the foot of the bed.

Bucky glanced over. “So they are.” He took off his hat and tie.

“Bucky?” Steve was sitting on his bed.

Bucky paused. “Steve,” he said levelly.

Steve shifted. “…It’s kind of cold tonight.”

“So it is.” Bucky wondered where this was going.

Steve had removed his helmet. His finger was resting just inside the collar of his shirt, poised to unbutton it. “…Think we could push the cots together?”

Bucky glanced at the door, stomach twisting. “Not sure that’s such a good idea, Stevie.”

Steve nodded as though he’d expected as much. “Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Bucky removed his boots.

Steve was watching him. He removed his own boots. He sighed. “Well if we’re not gonna sleep together, could I at least hold you for a while? I missed you!”

Bucky whirled around and shooshed him, face red, eyes wide. Steve just frowned at him, confused, eyes completely innocent. Bucky straightened and smoothed back his hair, regaining his composure. “Sure, Stevie. Whatever you want. But try not to talk so loud, okay?” Steve frowned at him. “—I have a headache,” Bucky fibbed.

Steve padded over to him in his socks. “Are you sick?” He felt Bucky’s forehead with the back of his hand, blue eyes scanning his face, concerned.

Bucky swallowed and pushed back the strange feelings gathering in his torso. “No,” he said with more breath than voice, feeling warm.

Steve lowered his hand, staring into Bucky’s face a mere few inches away. “You sure?”

Steve’s lips were too close. Too red. Too plush. Too beautifully sculpted, like the rest of him. Bucky turned his head to the side, blinking in an effort to erase the image of Steve’s lips hovering so close. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Steve pulled him into a gentle embrace, cheek just brushing the side of his head. Bucky’s heart fluttered. Steve was so warm. “Wouldn’t matter if you were. I haven’t been sick in months.” They both knew this meant he hadn’t gotten sick since he got the serum, that he meant he’d be this close to Bucky anyway even if he was sick.

“Yeah well. Still wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Steve smiled and held him closer. “I’m a big man. I can take care of myself.”

Bucky finally hugged him back, leaning his nose against Steve’s good-smelling shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Steve chuckled quietly and held him for a while, gently swaying. Bucky let his eyes drift shut, let himself relax in Steve’s embrace. He’d barely had time to get used to Steve’s new body before Steve had been sent off to tour the United States. He’d nearly forgotten how large and how ridiculously good-looking Steve was, until Steve was up close again. He was more used to it now, having spent a couple weeks with him on the long walk back from rescuing the 107th, and he was glad that Stevie wasn’t so fragile or sickly anymore. He didn’t have to worry about his best friend being taken from this world by pneumonia or something equally undignified. But Steve was just as reckless as ever. He still needed him. Bucky wasn’t sure whether that revelation was comforting or not.

Bucky abruptly remembered that the reason he and Steve had been separated so long was because Steve had been touring the United States with a gaggle of chorus girls. A hot flash coursed through him. He pulled away slightly. “You didn’t fuck any chorus girls, did you?”

Steve turned red and frowned. “Bucky!”

“’Cause you know they fuck everyone, right?”

“Bucky!!”

“Wouldn’t want you to catch anything, Stevie.” He patted Steve on the chest, his own blush fading as Steve’s blush deepened.

“BUCKY.”

Bucky grinned. “I’ll take that as a no?”

Steve smacked him on the arm. “No!”

“‘No’? Is that a ‘no’ as in you did or a ‘no’ as in you didn’t?” he teased.

“I did not—do _anything_ with the chorus girls! Besides perform!” Steve hissed.

Bucky held his hands up. “Just makin’ sure!”

Steve backed away and held his hands up. “I would _never-!_ ”

“Never what? Never sleep with a woman? Don’t let the rest of the regiment know.” He winked. “Oh and Peggy’ll be disappointed,” he couldn’t help adding, blurting it out before he could stop himself.

Steve paused. “You think?”

Bucky’s stomach sank. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “I dunno. Haven’t talked to her.”

Steve examined him. “You think Peggy’s interested?”

_It would take a_ blind _man to not see she’s interested._ “Maybe,” he hedged.

Steve considered this.

Bucky couldn’t bear to watch. Nor could he bear to look away. He watched Steve digest this ‘maybe’ and all that it implied.

“You really think so?”

Bucky grinned, which really came out more as a grimace, and turned away to strip off his coat and get ready for bed. “Guess you won’t know until you ask.”

Steve didn’t say anything after that.

They crawled into their respective cots and fell asleep facing each other. They woke up the same way.

* * *

Captain America and “Lucky” Barnes were inseparable, both on and off the battlefield. Rumors started to spread that they were more than friends. Soldiers ruminated over how the pair stood a little too close, laughed just a little too long. Some swore they looked at each other with pure adoration and devotion. Some were convinced they were secretly in love. Conjecture was exchanged over whether the secret had been discovered by either the Sergeant or the Captain yet; a betting pool was placed over how long it would take for them to confess their undying love for each other. Some were uncomfortable with these rumors; Bucky started noticing disapproving glances sent his way. Others were neutral about the situation: they were in a war. One soldier was quoted as saying, “I ain’t queer, but if I was, I sure wouldn’t give a shit about it when I was staring death in the face.” There had been disgusted glances shot his way, but there had also been murmurs of assent. Bucky had overheard some of these rumors; Steve remained blissfully unaware.

 The rumors about the Captain and the Sergeant were countered by rumors that Captain Rogers had something going with Agent Carter. They noted admiring glances between the two, claimed that Peggy’s actions confirmed she was sweet on him. They would occasionally clap Steve on the back and wish him luck; Steve assumed they were talking about battle plans. Bucky would grimace, but he did not correct their assumptions. He was aware of both strings of rumors and would much rather they gossip about Steve with Peggy. That seemed safer.

When confronted, Peggy neither confirmed nor denied these allegations. She merely smiled and said that it was Steve’s business and he could date whoever he likes.

The unstoppable duo fought many battles together; each time they returned victorious. They were the toast of the tavern. When he was with “Lucky,” Captain Rogers seemed to inherit his powers of being bulletproof. Little did they know, this was due to constant and exhausting work on Bucky’s part. On the battlefield, Bucky was constantly deflecting bullets from Steve. His shield could only cover so much space. Bucky used crude forcefields to block the rest. He discovered his ability to create these by accident. He didn’t bother trying to figure it out, just worried about trying to make them as efficiently as possible, all the while shooting everyone who dared shoot at Steve.

This did not go unnoticed by the Howling Commandos, the highest-ranking members they’d rescued of the 107th, who had become Steve’s personal backup. They began teasing behind the heroes’ backs that Steve was “getting Lucky,” after which they would elbow each other and laugh. They did not miss the lingering glances the pair exchanged, nor did their often-close physical proximity go unnoticed. There was a betting pool going as to which person Steve was really secretly dating, Barnes or Carter.

Steve was dating neither. He was increasingly comfortable around Peggy, and Peggy’s flirting was becoming more and more blatant. Steve was completely naïve in this regard, still having no idea how to talk to women, and assumed she was just being friendly.

Bucky hated this. But at the end of the day, Steve was sleeping in Bucky’s tent. This made him feel slightly smug. But he also felt guilty. Steve was honestly clueless about Peggy’s very obvious crush on him. Bucky wondered if he ought to tell him. But Bucky felt nauseated by the mere thought of Steve and Peggy together, no matter how well-suited they were. Whenever they would flirt, Bucky hovered uncomfortably nearby. One time he’d tried flirting with Peggy, out of sheer spite, but she’d completely ignored him. 

The war raged on. Captain America led them to victory after victory. He became a master strategist. No one could balance making the hard calls with making bold moves the way Steve could. Bucky couldn’t help his smiles of admiration. He was so proud. _Who wouldn’t be?_

Although they always returned victorious and, for the most part, unscathed, there was a close call.

It went down like this: they ziplined onto a train. A few of them recalled overhearing “Lucky” say something about possible revenge for an amusement park ride. Almost like he didn’t really want to go. But they all knew he’d go if Steve went. And he did.

The pair got separated from the rest of the squadron. Gunshots were fired.

Steve dropped his shield. Bucky picked it up and shot at the assailants. Once he succeeded in killing them, there was an explosion, and next thing he knew, Bucky was clinging to the door of a train several hundred feet above a yawning crevice.

Steve panicked. He dropped his shield and climbed out onto the door. “Bucky! Here! Take my hand!” The punk held onto the door with one hand and held out his other toward Bucky.

Once again, Bucky was struck by the irony of the situation. Here he was, an honest-to-goodness guardian angel, and for the second time, Steve was putting his life in jeopardy in an effort to save the life of someone who not only was already dead, but sworn to protect him. Bucky reached out with one hand. He felt the handle he was clinging to start to give. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. Steve stepped closer and held out his hand insistently. The door sagged under his weight.

Bucky looked at him hopelessly, wondering what the fuck kind of guardian angel he was. He had to think fast. The door was giving out under them. Steve was edging closer. Bucky launched himself at Steve, grabbing his hand. He felt the door give under their weight; metal screeched. It was ripping away from the train. Bucky hurled them through the opening and into the traincar, landing on top of Steve. The door fell away. Wind howled through the opening. Bucky stared at the gaping hole in the train, wondering how it was possible to leap against the wind like that. He tried to get up, but Steve was clinging to him. Bucky turned to face him. “Steve?”

Steve buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder and clung to him like a drowning man clings to driftwood. Bucky blinked and swallowed. “Stevie..? It’s okay.” Steve shook his head and clung tighter, shaking. “...Steve?”

Steve was sobbing. Bucky held him close. “Steve-!” He buried his face in Steve’s hair. Steve kept sobbing. Bucky held him until the sobs subsided.

That’s when someone found them. “There they are!” he called back to two more soldiers, who joined him.

Bucky glared at them. “Give us a moment!” The soldiers took in the gaping hole, the sobbing Captain, and maintained a respectful distance. Bucky murmured into Steve’s hair near his ear. “We’re not alone anymore, Stevie.” Steve clung tighter and stared at him, eyes wide. “-Friends!” Bucky amended quickly, “They’re friends. But we’ve gotta get up now. All right, Stevie?” Steve nodded numbly. Bucky helped him to his feet. Steve wiped at his tear-streaked face.

“Is he gonna be all right?” one of the soldiers asked.

Bucky gave him a thumbs-up. Steve leaned heavily on him.

* * *

On the way back to camp, they asked what had happened. Steve had recovered somewhat, but still seemed pretty shaken. Bucky just rubbed his back and explained briefly that he’d nearly fallen out of a train- “But it’s okay, Steve caught me.” He jostled Steve’s back. “Right, Stevie?”

Steve nodded numbly. The soldiers went between watching the pair and conferring amongst themselves all the way back to camp. Steve tried to pay attention to the conversations around him, but every time Bucky stopped touching him he froze up. Bucky left his hand on Steve’s back, rubbing circle after circle there until his arm was so tired it felt like it was gonna fall off.

Steve left the tavern early that night and beckoned for Bucky to come with him. He led them back to Bucky’s tent and didn’t even wait for Bucky to close the door before he started pushing the cots together. Bucky jumped and hastily closed the door, shooting out a panicked glance as he did so, and noting with relief that everyone seemed to be either asleep or in the tavern and no one had seen. He turned around. The cots were pushed together and Steve was stripping out of his uniform.

Bucky strode over to him. “Hey..”

Steve kept tearing off his clothes like they were burning him.

Bucky put a hand on Steve’s arm to still him. “Steve..”

Steve’s arms didn’t still. He kept tearing off his clothes until he was in nothing but an undershirt and boxers. He started stripping off Bucky’s clothes. Bucky jumped back. “Whoa, whoa! I can handle that myself! Get under the covers, you’ll catch cold.”

Steve made a frustrated noise and stepped forward to unbutton Bucky’s coat.

“Hold your horses! I’ll be done in a minute.” Bucky removed his coat and trousers a tad too slowly, carefully watching Steve. Steve’s posture was stiff, his face troubled, eyes desperate. Bucky swallowed. He undressed more quickly. “Get under the covers, Stevie. I’m serious.”

Steve sighed heavily and crawled under the covers, but gathered them in his lap, covered only from the waist down, and stared at Bucky with that same haunted look. Bucky hurried through undressing the rest of the way and crawled into the adjacent cot, pulling the covers over him. Steve immediately clung to him. Bucky froze. Steve wrapped himself as closely around Bucky as he could. Every beautifully sculpted muscle he had was tense. Bucky’s heart stumbled in his chest. “Steve,” he said breathlessly.

Steve’s face was buried in Bucky’s hair. “Bucky!” he sobbed.

Tears pricked suddenly at Bucky’s eyes; his chest ached. “Steve!” he whispered, holding him just as close. He nuzzled Steve’s neck, ignoring the warmth pooling in his lower abdomen, ignoring the pulsing he felt against his thigh.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, tears soaking through Bucky’s thick brown hair. His arms were trembling, even as his fingernails dug into Bucky’s back.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, rubbing Steve’s back soothingly, pressing his tingling lips gently to the side of Steve’s neck.

Steve pressed closer, entwining their legs, pushing their pelvises together. Bucky froze. His breath caught. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt Steve pressed against him like this, but—!

Steve pulled his face back enough that he could look at Bucky, with a soft, confused frown. “Bucky?” He reached up with one hand to caress the side of Bucky’s face. “You okay?” Bucky nodded stiffly. Biting his lip so he didn’t think about how Steve’s lips were so close. Cheeks hot because the closer Steve pulled him, the stiffer something else had become, and there was no _way_ Steve didn’t feel that. Steve brought their foreheads together, then nuzzled his way down to Bucky’s neck and held him as closely as he could. Steve was still soft, but that didn’t make the feeling any less enticing. Bucky’s face burned. _What kind of shitty angel am I!_

Steve guessed what was wrong. “Don’t be embarrassed, I don’t care.” He pushed his pelvis closer. Bucky inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. His erection pulsed. Steve nuzzled his neck. “I almost lost you…” he said quietly.

Bucky’s shoulders slowly eased. Suddenly his awkward arousal didn’t matter so much. “Steve…”

Steve pressed his face more firmly into Bucky’s neck. “Bucky, you almost _died._ ”

Bucky kissed the side of Steve’s head and stroked his back comfortingly. “Yeah but you saved me.” _You have no idea how much you’ve saved me._

Steve felt the weight of these words. His face broke out into a sad smile against Bucky’s shoulder. “But _you’re_ always the one saving _me._ ”

Bucky couldn’t argue with this. He chuckled quietly. “Yeah well. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

Steve gently thunked him on the back, grinning.

“And hey, you’re bound to return the favor eventually, right?” Bucky added, also grinning.

Steve pulled back enough to look at him again, still pressed together from the chests down, smiling wryly. “You’re such a jerk.”

Bucky’s grin faltered slightly because Steve’s face was so close. He swallowed. “Punk.” Steve’s gaze flickered down to Bucky’s lips and rested there for a moment. Bucky felt his skin growing warmer, heart racing. He attempted to push Steve away. “Think that’s enough cuddling for tonight, eh, buddy?”

Steve smirked and cuddled closer, sporting a halfsie. “Nope.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, still hard. Steve’s halfsie twitched against his thigh, growing warmer and harder.

Steve chuckled. “Nervous?” He nuzzled Bucky’s shoulder.

“No,” Bucky objected unconvincingly.

Steve pecked Bucky’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the first time, you know.”

Bucky’s mind was in the gutter. “What?!”

Steve chuckled again, more loudly this time. “You’ve gotten stiffies around me before, Buck.” He nudged Bucky’s hips with his again, mostly hard himself now.

Bucky hissed and edged his hips back. “Would you quit that?!”

Steve pulled back to look at his face, smirking. “Quit what?” He held his pelvis close.

“Dueling me with your flesh sword. I’m trying to get some sleep!”

Steve laughed and edged his pelvis away, but stayed close to Bucky. Needless to say, it was very difficult for Bucky to fall asleep that night. He didn’t drift off until he was sure that Steve was asleep.

But Steve was just faking it. He’d tried to fall asleep, he really had. But there was something he wanted to do. Once he heard Bucky’s familiar breathing slow into his sleep rhythm, he very carefully propped himself up on his elbow. Bucky’s face was difficult to see in the dim light. He could just make out the pointed tip of his nose, the dark sweep of his lashes. The cleft of his chin was nearly invisible. Pity, that was his favorite feature. Steve carefully reached over to touch Bucky’s chin. Bucky had always been a heavy sleeper. It took a lot to wake him up.

Steve was grateful for this.

It wasn’t the first time. Some nights, when he’d been curled up next to his best friend, he just— _needed_ to. His fingertips grazed Bucky’s stubble, gently tracing the outline of his chin. As far as he knew, Bucky had no idea he’d ever done this. Steve leaned very slowly and pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips. Maybe if Bucky knew, he wouldn’t be so jumpy when they cuddled. Steve never really thought about what it meant. He supposed it was a little unfair, since Bucky didn’t even know it was happening. Steve wasn’t entirely sure himself how he felt. All he knew was that he loved Bucky.

Steve gently backed away and curled up against Bucky. He didn’t know how Bucky felt either. It was probably foolish to think a life together was possible; maybe it was a good thing Peggy liked him, if she really did like him. If Steve fell in love with Peggy, they could live happily together, in the open, and unashamed. That felt a little unfair. Why couldn’t two men or two women love each other in the open? He’d grown up in a neighborhood where men fell in love with men, and women fell in love with women, and still, even though they were surrounded by people who felt the same, they had to hide their love away. If someone found out, they were often evicted or beaten. It just didn’t seem fair.

Steve never really cared whether he was queer. Well—all right, when he was eleven years old, just starting to go through puberty, he’d started _noticing_ things. He noticed the budding breasts on the girls, the way they strained against their shirts and jiggled when they jumped rope. He’d noticed their cherry-red lips, the smoothness of their skin. But he’d noticed other things, as well. How boys always seemed to have prettier eyelashes than girls. How their muscles would move when they played baseball together. 

Most of all, he’d noticed Bucky. The smooth expanse of throat he revealed when he threw his head back and laughed. The exact length and shape of his fingers, the way their tips turned red in the sunlight. The way his back grew broader, the way his stringy muscles started filling out the taller boy’s frame. He noticed Bucky’s voice, how deep and soothing it was. He could listen to Bucky for days. He noticed the way his thick brown hair curled in the humidity of New York summers, had memorized the locations of all of Bucky’s freckles.

Scared, he’d talked to his pastor about this. Confessed that he knew he was gettin’ older, an’ how he was noticing the girls… but how mostly he was noticing a boy. The priest had considered him seriously for a moment before laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He reminded the small, innocent youth that God made no mistakes, that God created each one of us special, and if he created people that way, who was Steve to question it? It was his experience that it was people who punished them, not God.

Steve had felt reassured by the pastor’s words. But being queer was something simply not talked about. In the awkwardness of puberty, telling the object of his affections that he was, in fact, the object of his affections, was unthinkable. And as the years had passed, Bucky had demonstrated time and time again that he was _very_ interested in girls.

Steve had never really cared that he was queer. He’d had years to come to peace with it, had experienced varying degrees of attraction to other people. Had even had the odd crush here and there.

But Bucky did seem to care. Steve wasn’t sure exactly what Bucky’s feelings on queer people were, but he definitely seemed uneasy any time he did something that might be interpreted as queer. Maybe Bucky wasn’t queer. Maybe Steve ought to pursue Peggy. She was beautiful, after all. And smart, and brave, and funny. He did enjoy spending time with her; he’d liked her right away.

But he just wasn’t sure. 

He _liked_ Peggy.

But he _loved_ Bucky.

* * *

The next day, Colonel Phillips called Captain Rogers and “Lucky” Barnes in to the conference room to discuss their next move: they were going after Schmidt.

“Schmidt?” Bucky whispered to Steve, not remembering who that was.

“Yeah. The guy with a red skull for a face,” Steve whispered back.

“Oh. _That_ Schmidt.”

Steve grinned.

“What are you smiling at?!” barked Colonel Phillips. Steve’s smile dropped. Conversation turned back to battle tactics. In true Steve Rogers fashion, Steve suggested they take the straightforward route and attack them head-on. Everyone, including Bucky, looked at him like he was crazy. But after Steve explained his plan, everyone glanced around, checking to see that everyone else was also more convinced, and that’s ultimately the plan they ended up following.

This was the most difficult battle yet, when it came to protecting Steve. Probably because they were charging directly into enemy territory. Bucky was incredibly grateful for that shield because it stopped a helluva lot more bullets than he did. They blazed a trail through the front lines and into the enemy camp, but shortly after entering camp, two men with flame throwers cornered Bucky and Steve back-to-back. They were captured and taken directly to Schmidt.

Turns out, this is exactly what Steve wanted. Schmidt thought he had the advantage. They were in an aircraft carrier, loaded down with missiles. The names of several large US cities were painted on the sides of them. Steve and Schmidt exchanged some venomous banter, then launched directly into physical assault. Several other Nazis were shooting at Steve. _Oh no you don’t!_ Bucky shot them dead one-by-one. Several got close enough to Bucky to engage in physical combat. Bucky fought them off one by one, throwing them out of the aircraft carrier.

At one point, Schmidt succeeded in throwing Steve out of the aircraft carrier. In a moment of panic, not thinking at all, Bucky hurled himself out of the plane after Steve. This is how he discovered that he could fly. He’d wondered _if I’m an angel, how come I don’t have wings_ but it turns out he didn’t need ‘em. Bucky caught Steve and propelled them, as though from sheer vengeance, back to the plane. Steve had been knocked unconscious by the force of the impact of Bucky catching him, so he didn’t wake up until they were back in the plane. He was a little confused, but Bucky had no time to explain. They were being attacked by Nazis. Bucky shot at each one in turn. Steve thanked him and went after Schmidt.

Once Bucky had thrown every stinkin’ Nazi out of the aircraft carrier, he approached Steve. Steve was staring strangely at Schmidt, who was making some sort of speech about a hovering blue cube. Bucky wondered if this was some sort of foreign technology. The aircraft carrier shifted crazily to one side. The cube glowed brighter. Then everything got really surreal.

Bucky could see the universe. A hole in space-time seemed to have opened up over the cube. Schmidt was screaming, his face shifting from triumph to terror. Steve was staring, frowning, transfixed. Bucky made his way over to Steve, shouting his name. They both watched as space warped, stars and galaxies swirling around in the strangely swirling violet space above the blue cube, beams of light shooting out from either side. Schmidt’s creepy skull face melted. His entire form seemed to be melting into the cube. Abruptly, the hole in space-time closed, and the cube burned through the floor, dropping several stories down and ultimately falling straight through the floor of the aircraft carrier.

Bucky and Steve hadn’t realized they were clinging to each other until it was over.

“No one is flying this plane!” Steve suddenly realized, eyes wide. The pair jumped apart and sprinted towards the controls. “I think it’s on autopilot!” Steve observed, examining the dials.

“Where the fuck did you learn to fly this thing?”

“I didn’t! I’m just guessing!” Steve adjusted a few levers. Found a radio. He adjusted the settings until he got the right frequency. He called base and explained the situation. Peggy answered. Steve glanced behind him at the missiles with the names of the cities painted on them. His face settled in resolve. Bucky’s gut turned cold. _No._ “I’ve gotta put her down in the water,” Steve said.

Peggy protested. So did Bucky. But Steve shook his head and explained that a lot of people were going to die if he didn’t.

“No!” Bucky yelled, hands on his shoulders. “There has _got_ to be another way!”

Steve shook his head. “There isn’t time, Buck. I can’t figure this out. Those missiles are set on a timer. If we keep flying…” Steve shook his head again. “I need to force her down now, before it’s too late.”

Peggy protested. Said Bucky was right, there had to be another way. But she sounded like she was losing hope.

Steve aimed the nose of the plane at the ice below. Bucky curled himself around Steve, intent on cushioning him from impact as much as possible. Steve seemed glad to have him there. Peggy continued her half-hearted protests on the radio. They faded into pleas, then acceptance. Steve apologized to her and assured her that he knew he was doing the right thing.

The windshield shattered upon impact. The aircraft carrier skidded and shuddered. The ice beneath them cracked. Water started flooding in through the hole where the windshield used to be.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve joked, smiling.

“Let’s get out of here!” Bucky urged, frowning.

Steve got out of his seat. They ran towards the high end of the aircraft carrier- which happened to be the back- but as they ran, they realized that all the doors were on the lower levels. The seat in which Steve had been sitting mere moments before was completely submerged.

Steve examined the walls and ceiling of the aircraft carrier, then glanced back down at the rising water. Only a few yards away from them and rising fast. “Bucky…” he began.

“NO!” He gripped Steve’s arms. His eyes darted around the aircraft carrier frantically. “There HAS to be way out! We can’t give up yet!!” _He can’t die like this! He can’t!! He was meant for so much more than this, I know it! It can’t end like this!!_

“Bucky!” Steve gripped Bucky’s arms.

Bucky shook his head rapidly, tears gathering in his eyes. “There has got to be a way. There just has to!”

“Bucky, it’s okay.” Steve brought his hands up to cradle Bucky’s face. “I got what I wanted. We saved all those people.” Steve smiled gently. “That’s enough for me.”

Bucky shook his head vigorously. “It’s not enough! This can’t be the end! There has to be more—!” He glanced crazily down at the water, cast his gaze around frantically for an opening, _any_ opening! “We could swim! We can get out of here! We’ll be okay!!” Tears streamed down Bucky’s face.

Steve shook his head, resolute. “Bucky. We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re going to freeze to death either way.”

The water was around their ankles now. Bucky’s eyes locked with Steve’s; Steve actually looked _okay_ with this! But deep in his eyes, there was something else. –Longing. And that just broke Bucky. _He doesn’t want to die yet, can’t you see?! What are you doing! Why was I brought back for this!!_

Steve pulled Bucky closer as the water rushed around their knees. “Bucky. It’s okay. We’ve both lived decent lives, right? We’re probably going to Heaven.”

Bucky’s face crumpled. “Oh Steve—!” _If only he knew._

Steve smiled, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Icy water swirled around their thighs. The aircraft carrier tilted farther down into the water. A flash of fear illuminated Steve’s eyes. It was getting darker inside the aircraft carrier, and a lot more _blue_.

“Steve—!” Bucky choked out, voice breaking.

Steve pulled Bucky into an embrace. “Hey. We kept our promise, right? Till the end of the line, Buck…” He held Bucky tighter, Adam’s apple bobbing against his shoulder. “Guess this is it.”

_No—!_ Bucky held him tighter and tried to will some sort of forcefield around them, but he couldn’t. He was so frustrated but he just _couldn’t._

“I love you,” Steve whispered. Water rushed up past their chests.

“I love you too,” Bucky choked out just before the water covered their mouths. Bucky held Steve in an iron grip, furious and frustrated and heartbroken all at once. And then he heard it—that voice again.

[ **James. Freeze.]**

_What? ‘Freeze?!’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!_

[ **Freeze the water, James.** ]

Bucky had to try several times. He didn’t have to breathe, but Steve did, and he could feel Steve holding his breath, but he had no idea how long Steve could hold his breath. Finally he succeeded in freezing a bubble of ice around them. Mostly around Steve.

_Now what?!_

But the voice had stopped talking, and Steve wasn’t breathing anymore, and it was pitch black and they were sinking and _how the fuck is anyone ever going to find us?!_ –when he felt the aircraft carrier shift. Almost as though they— _oh._ The aircraft carrier settled. The floor stopped tilting at such a crazy angle—it was still tilted but the angle was much more manageable now. The water level started going down. Not a lot, but. _Well. It’s something_. Bucky clung to his Steve ice-cube, wondering why the fuck he just froze his best friend who he’s _supposed to be SAVING_.

[ **You have saved him, James.** ]

“What?!”

[ **Steven is frozen, suspended in time. The moment he unfreezes, it will be as though no time has passed for him. Steven is safe.** ]

“Define ‘SAFE’!” Bucky shouted. His shout echoed oddly off of the walls of the aircraft carrier. “Is he SAFE out in the middle of NOWHERE? What the fuck is the POINT to all of this?!”

[ **I warned you your job would not be easy, James.** ]

“Fuck that! Just FUCK that!! I don’t care how easy or hard my job is, just _tell me how to DO IT!”_

[ **You’re doing fine, James.** ]

“And stop fucking calling me James! My name is _Bucky!”_

The voice smiled. _Can voices smile?_ [ **Protect him, James.** ]

Bucky felt the voice leaving again. “WAIT!!!” but it was too late. He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N -- I love Peggy. I love Steve/Peggy. I am by no means trying to erase their relationship or say it wasn't important, because it was and she's awesome. However, this fic diverges from the canon. It is my contention that if Bucky had been there, Steve's relationship with Peggy would have gone differently. It could have gone differently in many ways- Bucky may have developed a crush on her, or Bucky may have confessed his feelings to Steve at some point and caused some angst, or Bucky/Steve/Peggy OT3 might have happened. Who knows! I'd love to read/muse about all the various combinations. (Especially the ones that end with all the characters involved living happily ever after.) 
> 
> This fic is just one of many, many ways events could have unfolded.
> 
> I will fight for bisexual Steve Rogers. Just because he loves Bucky doesn't mean he's gay.
> 
> Just had to throw that out there.


	4. A Kingdom of Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to see what I can do  
> To test the limits and break through  
> No right, no wrong, no rules for me  
> I'm free!
> 
> Let it go, let it go  
> I am one with the wind and sky  
> Let it go, let it go  
> You'll never see me cry!
> 
> Here I stand  
> And here I'll stay  
> Let the storm rage on!
> 
> My power flurries through the air into the ground  
> My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around  
> And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast  
> I'm never going back,  
> The past is in the past!
> 
> Let it go, let it go  
> And I'll rise like the break of dawn  
> Let it go, let it go  
> That perfect girl is gone!
> 
> Here I stand  
> In the light of day  
> Let the storm rage on,  
> The cold never bothered me anyway!
> 
> \--"Let it Go" -Frozen soundtrack

* * *

 

Bucky had no idea how long he stayed there. The aircraft carrier was almost completely dark, and icy cold. He wasn’t sure if angels could freeze to death, or if he could die at all. He hadn’t eaten in days. He discovered that he needed neither to eat, nor shave, nor use the bathroom, nor breathe—everything he had taken for granted as a human was forgotten about as he curled into his indentation in the ice next to Steve, arms around him but not quite touching him through a few inches of ice. He cried shamelessly; there was no one to watch. He screamed himself hoarse, trying to bargain with the Powers-That-Be, but he lost his voice and still had no answer. He sobbed himself to sleep on his bed of ice who knows how many times. The aircraft carrier occasionally groaned and shifted, but never very far. It mostly rocked back and forth slowly.

Eventually, Bucky realized that people were probably still looking for Steve. Judging by how much water was in the aircraft carrier, he guessed they were at least mostly submerged. If they were underwater, it would be much less likely that the search parties would find him, and it would take much longer. Even after realizing this, it took Bucky several hours before he was able to detach himself from the ice block. He wasn’t even frozen to it; it was just _that hard_ to leave Steve, even if he was unconscious and, for the moment, totally safe. Just to be sure he wouldn’t go anywhere, Bucky fused the ice block to the nearest wall. This took some doing, since Bucky had no clue how to freeze things in the first place. He managed it through sheer force of will and perseverance.

Bucky started to swim away, but only made it a few yards before doing a 180 and doubling back to hug Steve through the ice. He murmured useless reassurances to him, as though Steve could hear. “It’s okay, Stevie, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna find us a way out of here, and someone’s gonna find you. Okay?” He looked at Steve’s frozen, sleeping face through the ice, awaiting confirmation. Of course Steve said nothing. Bucky hugged him again tearfully and promised that everything was gonna be okay, that he’d be back soon. Slowly, he pried himself away and turned to swim. _Gotta save him. Gotta find an opening so I can save him._

Bucky swam for a long time before he found an opening in the bottom of the ship. He swam out and into the dark surrounding water. He made his way towards the surface, but he kept running into ice. It’s a good thing he didn’t need to breathe. Bucky felt his way along the ice until he felt an opening. This task took so long, by the time he found an opening, there was light coming through the surface. Bucky climbed out onto the ice, his clothes almost immediately freezing in the arctic air. Vicious wind whipped across the snow-covered ice. Bucky looked around, trying to get his bearings. The sky was gray streaked with pink; tiny shards of snow whipped around like sand. The ice was mostly flat, with occasional pieces jutting out, almost like hills, or cliffs.

He trudged back in the general direction from which he’d swum. His eyes scanned the ice frantically for a sign of the aircraft carrier. There was no sign of it. Not for miles. Bucky had no idea how far he’d walked but he knew he’d overshot it. The sun was setting. There was no way it had taken him this long to swim— _wait, what was that?_ Bucky heard something. A groaning under the ice. He looked down, but couldn’t see through it. He took several steps forward. The ice looked recently broken. Bucky ran along the crack in the ice. There was something sticking out of it, about twenty yards ahead. As Bucky approached the shape, he saw red sunlight glinting off of metal. Hope surged through him. 

Sure enough, he’d found the aircraft carrier. He spun around, casting his gaze this way and that, searching for some way to mark their position. All he saw was ice, snow, and the occasional rock. Most of the rocks were small, the bigger ones only the size of his fist. The sun was very low in the sky. Darkness was falling rapidly, the ice turning blue underfoot. Stars already twinkled in the completely clear sky. Bucky kicked at the ice in frustration. There was no way he’d make it back into the ship that night. The most efficient thing to do was spend the night on the ice.

Bucky searched for a good spot to hunker down. He found one next to an angled slab of ice. He leaned against the slab and curled up, arms around his knees. By all rights, he should have been shivering, teeth chattering madly, skin turning blue, but Bucky was okay. His clothes were frozen stiff, and his skin was definitely not warm, but his heart was beating steadily, his breath coming out in clouds—Bucky was okay. _I really can’t die, can I._ The thought was somewhat comforting. He was bulletproof, he didn’t need to eat or sleep or breathe, he could spend days in a frozen wasteland and be none the worse for wear. _Convenient._

Bucky nearly lost his breath when he looked up at the sky. He’d never seen so many stars in his entire life. He jumped to his feet and gestured pointlessly, wishing he could show Steve. “There are so many stars, Stevie! _So_ many stars! Holy shit! _Look_ at them!” He pointed. He glanced at the small chunk of ship sticking out over the ice, outlined in starlight. Of course Steve couldn’t hear him. Bucky’s chest heaved. What he wouldn’t give for a camera, or for Steve’s artistic skills and some paper, or paint, or _something!_ He could see the Milky Way! Some places, the stars were so thick they looked like clouds, softly glowing millions of miles away. He was blown away by the variation of colors and hues, the whites and oranges and violets and blues. Bucky sat back down on the ice, then slid gradually onto his back, staring at the sky. There were so many stars, he couldn’t even find the constellations he grew up with. He was overwhelmed by the sheer depth and size of the vastness he was staring into. The stars looked so small, like snowflakes in a photograph, but they twinkled and glittered with lives of their own, each one thousands of time bigger than the planet he was lying on. Bucky stayed there all night, contemplating the vastness of the universe and admiring its beauty until the sun rose and obscured his view of the stars.

All the while, he wished Steve was with him. If anyone could appreciate the beauty of the universe, it was Steve. Steve probably could have captured this on paper. What Bucky wouldn’t give to see Steve’s interpretation of the stars.

Once the rosy bloom of dawn cast its glow on the ice, Bucky pushed to his feet, heaviness in his chest, and dusted himself off. That day, he gathered all the rocks he could find and spelled out the word “HELP.” It took him all day. By sunset, he was tired. He rested against a nearby ice hill and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke, it was still dark outside. Bucky excitedly looked up at the sky. It was pitch black. Crestfallen, Bucky realized that it was overcast. Something wet touched his nose. He wrinkled his nose, wiggled it around, scrunched up his face. A little trail of water ran down his cheek from the bridge of his nose. Something wet touched his forehead, then his chin. Bucky sat up, startled. It was snowing.

Bucky pushed to his feet. His rock formation was still readable, barely flecked with snow, but he needed to keep it that way if anyone was going to read it. This was a relatively easy task until it became lighter outside- maybe half an hour later- and the snow started to fall in earnest. Bucky ran up and down the letters, dusting them off and re-setting them frantically. He was finding it difficult to keep up. Sometime around noon, Bucky realized this was a futile task. Even if he could keep the letters clear, they probably weren’t big enough to read from an airplane, because he could only find so many rocks, and any airplanes that would fly overhead probably wouldn’t see through the thick cloud-cover anyway.

Bucky stood in the middle of the E, panting. He felt like crying. He had no idea how to help Steve. He knew he needed to mark them out somehow, make it obvious that they’d crash-landed here. But the ice was thick. There was no way he could break through it without some sort of tool, and even then it was dubious. Frustrated, he gathered the rocks into a pile, thinking maybe he could use them for something else. The snowy rock pile was roughly two feet tall and four feet wide. Bucky mused bitterly that if it were a bonfire, _then_ someone might notice them. And hey, maybe it would warm him up. Not that he strictly needed it, but it was a little eerie having skin the same temperature as the ice.

Once again, Bucky was forced to spend a night on the ice. He batted snow away with his hands for a few minutes before realizing that he could probably just form some sort of shield and block it that way. Bucky tried a few times before he got it right. He managed a sort of dome over his head and shoulders. His knees were still getting covered. He tried again. This time, the dome was bigger. He was sitting inside his own little reverse snowglobe, the snow falling around outside, bouncing off the forcefield and leaving Bucky only as wet as he had been. Though, his body wasn’t really warm enough to melt the snow on his clothes. So those were dry, in a sense. Covered with flakes and chunks of frozen water, but at least he wasn’t cold and wet. Could be worse.

It snowed for two days.

Bucky’s rock pile was completely buried, but at least it was tall enough to relocate. The pile made a little hill in the surrounding snow. Although Bucky’s forcefield protected him from getting snowed on, it did not protect him from muscle cramps. He had to stand up and stretch, and thus readjust his forcefield, several times. Each time he stood up, his stomach got cold. He realized that by hunkering down in a ball, he’d managed to restore some body heat. Interesting. Also interesting was the fact that it had snowed up to just above his knees, and once the snow finally stopped on the evening of the third day, and the clouds cleared away, he realized with a sinking feeling that the upper part of the aircraft carrier had also been covered with snow. It took several tries, but he was able to dust it off by shooting energy of some sort, the same way he’d shot _something_ under Steve in the fiery warehouse, at the snow on top. He had no idea _how_ it worked; point was it worked. The aircraft carrier was, for the moment, visible, the sky clear.

While he’d been shooting energy blasts at the aircraft carrier, he’d neglected to notice that the snow behind him was glowing green. He noticed it when he turned around. His eyes widened and he glanced around to see what was causing the green glow. He was amazed when he discovered the source. Bucky had heard of the Northern Lights, but he’d never seen them before. They glowed in curvy paths like rivers in the sky, predominantly green, with small wisps of purple here and there. They weren’t particularly bright that night, but Bucky had no frame of reference, so to him, they were beautiful. He was completely in awe. The stars beyond were somewhat obscured by the light pollution, but Bucky was too busy admiring the Northern Lights to mourn the partially blocked Milky Way. He spent another night marveling over the beauty of nature.

* * *

Bucky woke up the following afternoon to a mostly empty sky. Small wispy clouds, barely the stroke of a paintbrush, floated high overhead in the clear, deep blue. Not dark, just— _deep._ Bucky didn’t think he’d ever see the sky the same way again. He almost wished he and Steve could have grown up in the country because the sky was just so goddamn gorgeous.

The aircraft carrier was unburied from snow, but only about eight feet of it was sticking out above the snow. Most of it was underwater, and most of that water was covered by ice. Bucky picked up a rock from his pile, dusted off the snow, and chucked it. The rock buried itself in the snow, leaving behind only a tiny circular hole, barely visible from this distance. He huffed a laugh and threw another rock. There was something satisfying about the action.

After chucking roughly half his rock pile away, he paused, stone in hand. He rotated the rock between his fingers, considering it. The rock was dark gray, rather smooth, less than half the size of his fist. It had a narrow end and a fat end; it was flatter towards the narrow end. Most of the rocks were rather smooth and round like this. Some were nearly perfect ovals. Too many of them were tiny, less than an inch in diameter, but rocks were rocks. At least it was something besides ice and snow.

Bucky tossed the rock upward and caught it. Felt its weight.

He recalled a few interesting things: that he could create forcefields, both around himself and around Steve. That he was bulletproof. That he could fly. Bucky had no idea what being an angel entailed; each difference from being human had been discovered by accident. Bucky tossed the rock and caught it again. “What if I…?” Bucky looked down at the pile of rocks. He concentrated on one and tried to flip it over with his mind. The rock trembled, lifted off the ground, and flipped over. Bucky’s eyes widened and he stepped back. The small rock fell from the air with a dull clatter and rolled down the pile.

Excited, Bucky concentrated on another small rock. Once again, using nothing but sheer will power, he succeeded in flipping the rock over. He danced a little jig and tried for a larger rock, one a couple of inches in diameter. He couldn’t get it to budge. Bucky clapped himself on the forehead with both hands, forgetting about the rock in his hand and dropping it on his foot. He cried out and grabbed his foot, hopping around until he lost his balance and fell, sitting on the ice. He winced and held his toes. Then glared at the rock pile. “Really?” He reprimanded the sky. “You couldn’t give me a manual or something?” The voice was silent. Bucky rolled his eyes and massaged his foot. “‘No one said your job would be easy James,’” he mimicked badly-on-purpose, making exaggerated faces. He huffed and got to his feet. “Yeah. No kidding.” Hands on his hips, he concentrated on another pebble and got it to shift. He made a face at the sky.

The sky did nothing in response.

Bucky expected as much. He spent the rest of the day making tiny rocks shift with his mind.

Night fell, and Bucky spent another night marveling at the beauty of the Aurora. He fell asleep near dawn and woke up late in the afternoon. “Shit!” Bucky exclaimed upon gleaning the time of day from the position of the sun. He didn’t have much daylight left to work with. He approached his rock pile and rubbed his hands together. “All right. I’m gonna lift a big one today. I can feel it.” He grunted with effort and concentrated on a fist-sized rock. It trembled. He concentrated harder. It shook harder. Bucky gritted his teeth and pressed his fingers to the sides of his forehead, concentrating hard. The rock rattled against the pile and started to lift off the ground just as Bucky suddenly tired and had to let it drop, panting. “Dammit!” He panted, leaning over, hands braced on his knees. “I nearly had that!”

Soon as he caught his breath, Bucky set about lifting the same rock again. He had to give up quickly because he was just too tired. “Okay. So apparently I can drain my powers. Good to know.” Then he folded his arms and looked up at the sky. “Really though? I can only lift small rocks? What kind of crap power is that?”

The sky waited peacefully by, empty except for small clouds. It said nothing.

Bucky rolled his head, and rolled his shoulders. Face set in determination, he took a deep breath, blew it out through pursed lips, and concentrated on the rock again.

It took him all day, but he did eventually lift the rock.

* * *

Bucky spent several days like this, lifting and flipping rocks until it took no effort at all. He’d gotten so wrapped up in the task that he’d forgotten why he started it. Bucky stared over at the mostly sunken aircraft carrier. An idea dawned on his features. “What if I…?” _No, that’s too difficult. There’s no way._ “But maybe…” Bucky stared at the bit of aircraft carrier and stroked his lightly stubbled cleft chin.

“I bet I could do it,” he finally concluded. _But it’s gonna take a while before I can lift something that big._

Bucky fell asleep facing the aircraft carrier that night. He was somewhat disappointed that he wouldn’t see the stars, but it wasn’t much fun seeing them without Steve anyway. He almost wished he’d brought Steve out with him. But he didn’t want him to get hurt, or lost, or buried in snow. As long as the aircraft carrier stayed there, Steve was safe.

Snow didn’t seem like it would make a comfortable bed, but Bucky found he was getting used to it. Snow was soft, after all. Yeah, by morning, it was kind of icy and he was covered in bits of snow and ice, but at least it was softer than lying down straight on the ice like he had the first couple of nights.

Dreams were the part he feared most though. Before the war, Bucky had always been a vivid dreamer. He’d remember them and re-live bits of them as he was waking up. Steve had given him a journal so he could write them down. He always loved hearing about Bucky’s dreams. But some nights, Bucky woke up sweating; those were the dreams he knew he’d never tell Steve about. Dreams where Steve died. Dreams where their apartment burned down, with Steve still inside. Sometimes Bucky rescued him, and he was the one who burned to death. Bucky didn’t mind that so much. But nightmares weren’t the only dreams he couldn’t tell Steve about.

It was one of _those_ nights. Ever since Steve got pumped up with that serum, Bucky’s dreams oscillated between this new Steve and the Steve he’d grown up with. He wasn’t sure which body was more beautiful. The dreams made him feel like scrubbing himself from the inside out. He would wake up, heart pounding, feeling like a complete failure as a friend, like the lowest scum of the earth, because they’d been taught in school that dreams were created by the brain—whatever people dreamed was stuff they’d already thought of, even if they weren’t aware of it—and the things Bucky had thought of.

He could still taste Steve’s moans when he startled awake, gasping. For a moment he was terrified that Steve would be beside him, sleeping peacefully, and that he’d just woken him up with his gasp. He was relieved to find that he was alone in the snow. Bucky wiped the sweat from his forehead; he was sweating all over, breathing heavily. His hand shook as he lowered it to the snow. He stared at the snow, wide-eyed.

Whatever god Steve believed in couldn’t be the real god, because whatever that voice was, whoever was in charge and had sent him back as an angel, had designed the universe in such a way that people like him qualified as an angel. Whoever created the universe must have a sick sense of humor, letting angels have dreams like that. He was still painfully hard, but there was no way he was jerking it in this weather. He was just gonna have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Bucky regained a semblance of normal breathing and pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain of his arousal. _Seriously, what kind of universe is this? I don’t have to eat or sleep- I don’t have to_ breathe- _but I still have a sex drive? Who’s the twisted guy that came up with this?_ Bucky tried to lift rocks with his mind that day, but his mind kept wandering. Images of the dream kept rushing back at the most unexpected moments. There was nothing he wanted more than to touch himself, but he refused.

Even still, he kept finding his hands grabbing himself through his pants. Each time, he hurriedly removed his hand and clasped his hands behind his back so he’d stop being so tempted. He wondered if he was having such a hard time lifting rocks that day because the blood kept leaving his brain. _Maybe bloodflow has something to do with my powers?_

Whether it did or not, the sun was low and red in the sky, the ice turning evening blue, and Bucky had made absolutely no progress with the rocks that day. He was tired. He was frustrated. And he only wanted two things: relief, and Steve. Bucky stomped on the ice near the aircraft carrier where he figured it was thin. He was right: he broke through. Bucky searched blindly for an opening, and upon finding one, swam into the aircraft carrier and sought out Steve.

Steve was right where he’d left him, frozen to a wall. The place Bucky’d slept was somewhat precarious and difficult to get into but Bucky didn’t care. He slipped off the first few times he tried- the fourth time he almost made it- but the fifth time, Bucky was in the ice next to Steve. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before he fell asleep.

The frigid swim had done him some good; he didn’t feel like jerking off anymore. He woke up lazily the next day, barely able to see anything in the dark aircraft carrier. He stroked Steve’s face through the ice. Smiled wanly. “I lifted some rocks, buddy. I’m gonna lift some bigger ones. I’m gonna lift bigger, and bigger rocks until I can get you out. But you’ve gotta stay here, all right?” He waited a moment, as though waiting for Steve to respond, then smiled at him. “I’ll miss you too.” He pressed a kiss to the surface of the ice, unsure which feature lie directly under it, not particularly caring at the moment. It wasn’t like he was tryin’ to make out with him or anything. It was just a kiss. Maybe on the cheek or something, Bucky didn’t know. It was too dark.

Bucky smiled at Steve once more and patted the side of the ice block before sliding into the water and swimming away.

* * *

It had probably been a few weeks; Bucky couldn’t tell. He’d never started keeping track. They could’ve been out here for twenty days, or thirty, or forty. Fifty seemed too high but hell if Bucky knew. However long it had been, it had been a worryingly long time for no planes to have flown overhead. Snow had fallen several times, some storms worse than others. Each time, Bucky had cleared off the aircraft carrier with a blast of energy. He was getting better at that. He’d also gotten better at lifting, levitating, and rotating rocks. He could even lift several at once, if they were small enough. But lifting several pebbles was nowhere near the weight of the aircraft carrier. Bucky tried not to be discouraged by his pace, but he felt like this was taking forever.

Steve was his motivation. Any time he felt sleep taking over, he’d break through a thin patch of ice and swim into the aircraft carrier. Sometimes he had to swim the long way out to get back to his spot, but he knew where it was well enough now that he wasn’t afraid of getting lost. Swimming in the freezing cold water seemed a great antidote for any unexpected thoughts about Steve, as well. It was a win-win situation.

Except that it was taking way too long to figure out how to lift rocks.

Bucky started getting impatient and trying to lift too much at once. He’d try to lift all the rocks in the pile, then half the rocks in the pile, and narrow his aim little by little until he found a weight he could just barely lift. Then he’d practice lifting that all day until he was exhausted. He joked to himself about developing a muscular brain. He imagined Steve’s reaction to this. He imagined Steve’s reaction to a lot of things.

One thing Bucky hated imagining was Steve’s reaction to discovering that he was dead and he’d never told him. _Yeah Stevie, I died a long time ago in an alley. Pretty stupid, huh._

Steve would be angry.

_Oh sorry, I lied to you about being alive. Well, not directly since I never looked you in the eyes and said “I’m alive.” But there’s sins of omission. Guess this is one._

Steve would be heartbroken.

_But I’m here…_

Bucky had no idea how Steve would react. He’d be upset, maybe cry. Maybe punch him. He didn’t know if Steve would ever trust him again.

It hurt to think about.

So Bucky tried not to think about it. He concentrated on the rocks.

* * *

By the time Bucky managed to lift all the rocks in the pile, he was sure at least a couple months had passed. He was giddy with excitement the first time he succeeded. He ended up dropping them all, grinning, hands on his face, and dancing like an idiot. “Steve!! Look what I can do!” He lifted the rock pile again. Moved the rocks farther apart; they formed a large sphere. Moved them closer inwards; the sphere tightened. He rotated the sphere. “Steve look!” he crowed, arms spread, fists clenched, eyes dancing with excitement.

Of course Steve couldn’t look. Steve couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t move. But Bucky had to tell him anyway.

Bucky spent the next month breaking off and lifting bigger and bigger chunks of ice. He created a large hole around the aircraft carrier this way; all the more convenient.

Eventually, he was confident that he could lift the aircraft carrier.

The first time he tried, it didn’t budge. “Come ON!!!” He shouted, concentrating hard, teeth gritted, fingers pressing the sides of his forehead. He continued exerting mental force on it until it groaned and slowly started to shift. He almost dropped it in his excitement. He was able to lift it just a few inches, but he felt himself getting tired. He tamped down his panic and set the aircraft carrier down gently, not wanting to upset whatever it was resting on. The ship groaned and shuddered, but remained still. Bucky sighed with relief. He didn’t know what he’d do if the thing sank to the bottom of whatever body of water this was. _Find him, I s’pose._

It took him several days, at the end of which he was too exhausted to even swim up through the opening and sleep beside Steve. He spent those nights sprawled out on the ice, spread-eagled. He woke up lonely.

Finally, he succeeded in lifting the entire vehicle out of the water. Water poured out of the bottom. Bucky had to adjust for the lost weight. It felt really strange, like part of his brain was being deflated. Once all the water had drained, he set the aircraft carrier down on a particularly thick part of the ice. The vehicle creaked and groaned, but ultimately settled onto the ice and stayed there. The ice didn’t even crack. Bucky beamed and collapsed. He slept for three days.

* * *

The moment Bucky woke up, he pushed to his feet and climbed into the aircraft carrier. The floor was extremely slippery. He had to fight for traction. He wound up carving makeshift footholds into the ice, exhausting himself both physically and mentally as he climbed. Steve was still secured to the wall. Bucky broke the seal and gently lowered Steve to the ground. He immediately started sliding. Bucky panicked and stopped him with his mind. The ice block slowed and stopped. Bucky held him there and secured him to the floor, draining his powers completely once more. Exhausted, he climbed into the indentation next to Steve and slept.

When Bucky awoke, daylight was filtering into the aircraft carrier through its various windows and openings. The ice inside sparkled in the sunlight. The walls shimmered. Bucky blearily raised his head. He wished Steve could see this. His lips curved into a smile. “How ‘bout that, Stevie? We have our very own winter wonderland!” He gazed down at Steve. His smile vanished.

A few inches of ice separated him from Steve’s face. His eyes and mouth were closed. Steve’s mouth was beautifully red, his expression serene. Bucky’s chest started heaving. _Steve thought he was going to die. He thought he was going to die, with me, and_ this _is the look on his face._ Bucky’s face crumpled. He lowered his forehead to the ice and sobbed. “Steve!!” _Steve really had been okay with dying. No, no he couldn’t be! What about that look I saw in his eyes!_ Whatever look had been trapped in Steve’s eyes was hidden by his eyelids for the indefinite future. Bucky clung to the ice block and sobbed. He didn’t know what Steve was longing for, but whatever it was, Bucky vowed he was going to make sure Steve got it!

He remained there until he’d cried himself out. He kissed the ice over Steve’s face several times, kissing over his cheeks and forehead and chin, murmuring Steve’s name over and over again. Once he’d calmed, he stroked the ice over Steve’s face with his hand. “I’m gonna get you out of here. All right? I don’t care what it takes. We’re gonna give you the life you deserve.” He kissed the ice over Steve’s forehead again, lingering until his lips started freezing to the ice. Then he curled up next to Steve and contemplated what to do next.

“If I was Steve,” he mused out loud, “what would I do?” He glanced at Steve for an answer. Steve, of course, said nothing. Bucky sat up, swinging his feet to the side. “I know!” He started rifling through the ship for supplies. He found weapons, soggy blueprints, various religious artifacts- all waterlogged- some goggles- potentially useful- and more weapons. He worked his way towards the front of the ship and kept coming up with the same types of items. “Man, these guys don’t know how to have fun!” He didn’t know what he’d been hoping to find, maybe some records or paper or something. But the only paper he found was already written on and it was in German. Bucky didn’t speak German, nor could he read it. And the paper was too wet to start a fire with; besides, he couldn’t find any matches or anything else to light a fire with anyway.

About halfway through, he gave up. He’d accrued a small pile of stuff, none of it useful except possibly the goggles. He tried them on. They fit. He pocketed them for later.

“Well, Stevie,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “Another day spent.” Red light streaked in through the windows. He climbed back to his ice bed. “Wish you could see the stars, Stevie. God knows they shine bright for the likes of you, not me.” He tried to fall asleep curled around Steve, but he just wasn’t tired. He felt too guilty. Kept thinking about how he was kind of a shitty person, couldn’t figure out why Steve liked him.

Bucky stepped outside and stared at the sky. “Why’s he even out here?” he asked the Aurora Borealis, hands spread wide. “He doesn’t deserve this!” _I do._ Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the snow. _I don’t know how I earned this second chance._ Because, upon reflection, he’d done nothing to merit a second chance. He’d overspent whenever he got the chance, he’d stumbled home drunk too many times, flirted with every dame he came across even though deep down he was only doing it because he felt like he was supposed to. He wasn’t blind, he could see that they were pretty. All the dames were pretty. They all had such interesting shapes, such nice smiles, and they smelled nice. They were fun to dance with. But he’d seen enough movies with Steve- Steve was always eager to see new movies, but he couldn’t afford to take himself; he always got so absorbed in them, Bucky often found himself watching Steve more than the screen, just to see his reactions- he knew how the guys in movies felt about dames. All this ‘you’re the one for me’ and ‘can’t live without you’ crap. Bucky had never felt that for anyone. He’d never clutched his chest over some dame. Never been intoxicated by one. Certainly never lost his mind over one. Bucky found himself pacing. The only person he’d ever truly felt he couldn’t live without was Steve.

“That can’t be right,” he choked out, staring at the ground. Guys in the movies, they said this sappy stuff about how the girl was the moon and the stars. They couldn’t take their eyes off her. Bucky stared up at the stars and thought of Steve. His eyes filled with tears. _No—!_ If anyone asked who the brightest star in Bucky’s sky was, there was no question about it. It was Steve. It had always been Steve. Ever since they met. Anyone who didn’t see Steve’s greatness was a fool. The serum just brought out what nobody else had seen. Well- maybe Peggy and Dr. Erskine had glimpsed it, like an astronomer gazes at a distant galaxy. But Bucky had mapped out that galaxy, flown a starship and spent the night in its arms. Bucky knew all of its constellations. The way Steve’s jaw clenched when he was set on something. The way his eyes twinkled when he was sure he was right. The way his lips curved when he smiled at Bucky. The way his willowy fingers played with his pencil when he was thinking. The little wheeze when he laughed. Bucky had memorized the location of every vertebrae, every rib. He’d bandaged countless cuts and bruises. Saved his ass from who knows how many fights. Smoothed back his hair when he had a fever and held a cool rag to his forehead. Ran out and bought asthma medicine when Steve didn’t tell him he was out and couldn’t afford more. He saw through Steve’s bluffs, parried with his rapier wit, laughed with him, held him while he cried over his mother’s death.

_But that’s what best friends do, right?_ He laughed bitterly, unable to convince himself even for a second. _Yeah? And what about the dreams, asshole._ Steve feverishly ripping off Bucky’s clothes. Steve’s tongue in his mouth. Steve begging to be fucked. And then there were the dreams where Steve would approach him sweetly, a shy smile on his face, and start taking off his clothes. He’d look so innocent, so pure, and that just made Bucky want him more. _What kind of monster am I?_ Bucky choked out a sob and covered his face with his hands.

_How the fuck did I ever qualify to be an angel? I’m nothing but filth._ He thought back on his conversation in the void. He hadn’t stated a single merit of his own because he didn’t have any. He was scum. _The only reason I’m here is Steve._ He stopped in his tracks and fell to his knees, hands on his face. _If Steve had had anyone else, I wouldn’t be here._ Bucky curled into a ball, body shaking with sobs. He figured he was being punished- to live a life with Steve, but not with Steve. He could never be with Steve. When the time came, it would be his duty to make sure Steve found the right woman, his job to make sure nothing went wrong, and they got together and lived happily ever after. Steve would grow old with her. Eventually, Bucky would have to tell him he’s an angel. Steve would be angry, maybe never talk to him again. Certainly never trust him again. But Bucky’s curse would be to remain close, regardless. He’d _have_ to be near Steve until the day he could no longer protect Steve, and he’d probably follow him into the afterlife, because aren’t guardian angels immortal?

Bucky was going to have to live forever next to his best friend, doomed to never tell him how he felt. _Not that there was anything to tell!_ Bucky laughed bitterly into his tears. Even now, he couldn’t admit it.

“Maybe I should have just died.” _I deserved it._ Bucky had died foolishly, chasing down those thugs. But he couldn’t stop his fury. Those same thugs had beaten Steve in that same alley a few weeks prior. They’d beaten him up so bad, Steve had ended up in the hospital. When Bucky asked Steve what he’d gotten himself into that time, half-joking, overcome with relief that Steve was going to be okay, Steve had replied with complete honesty that for once, he hadn’t started it. He’d been walking back from work and suddenly there’d been five guys beating on him, calling him ‘queer’ and ‘fairy.’

Ever since then, Bucky was careful around Steve. Wouldn’t allow himself to be too affectionate in public, if he could help it. Yeah he messed up a few times, but that was after. After he’d hunted them down, seeing red, and beaten them as much as he could before they beat him to death. _At least I went down fighting_ , he remarked bitterly.

That wasn’t the first time he’d been willing to kill for Steve, and it was far from being the last. The vast majority of the men he’d killed in the war, he’d killed solely because they’d attacked Steve. He had thrown bleeding Nazis out of an aircraft carrier because they’d attacked Steve. Becoming an angel had done nothing to alter his morals. He would still do anything for Steve. He would still do whatever it took to make sure Steve was safe.

Steve deserved a better angel. Steve was so good, so pure. Everything about him ought to be etched in marble. There should be monuments erected in his honor. Statues sculpted of his likeness. Steve was a hero. His aim had always been to save as many people as possible. His trademark weapon was a _shield_ , for chrissake! Steve was all about protecting people, about standing up for the little guys, helping the underdogs. Steve fought for the good of everybody. Bucky only ever fought for Steve.

_I’m a disgrace._

Whether he deserved it or not, though, Bucky was Steve’s guardian angel. He twisted his head around to look at the aircraft carrier. Inside, Steve rested, safe and sound. Bucky had managed, once again, to save his ass. Seemed to be the only thing he was good at. _Who knows how many times that punk would’ve died without me?_ That thought sinks in. Maybe the only thing Bucky was good at was protecting Steve. But maybe that’s all he _needed_ to be good at. Maybe he was a shitty angel, but that didn’t mean he was a shitty _guardian_ angel. Steve was alive, thanks to him.

Bucky stood and brushed himself off. Who knew how long they’d be stuck here? They were so far out in the boonies, he hadn’t even seen an animal the whole time they’d been there. Bucky had never felt so alone. And he’d never felt he deserved punishment more.

* * *

The next day, Bucky was more determined than ever to help Steve get out of here. He dug through the cabinets and drawers in the aircraft carrier until he found a compass. He spun it around to make sure it worked. Judging by where the sun rose and where the sun set, the compass was indeed pointing north. And upon spinning it, the needle continued pointing north. Bucky exited the aircraft carrier, heedless of the setting sun. _I’m gonna get you out of here, Stevie._ Bucky took out the compass and checked to see which way was north. He set off in that direction, determined to walk either until he found civilization, or he was too tired to continue- whichever came first.

He walked tirelessly on through that night, checking the compass every so often to make sure he was still headed exactly north. He ignored the beautiful sky, feeling as though he didn’t deserve its beauty. He walked through sunrise, through the entire next day, and well into the night before his legs started to get tired. Snow had drifted up to his waist in places. He kept walking, climbing through the drifts of powdery snow. He fought through the night and well into the next day. His feet hurt and his legs started dragging. Only when the sun was setting, and he was walking with a pronounced limp, did he finally stop to rest. All around him was nothing but ice and snow. Not an animal, not a mountain, not a stream. Nothing. Bucky curled into himself and fell asleep.

He woke with a groan the next day, his entire body sore. He pushed to his feet, legs shaking. His stomach grumbled. He huffed out a bitter laugh. “Oh, _now_ you’re hungry?” he asked himself. He examined the landscape. Nothing but ice and snow every which way. He decided to keep going. After walking for two more days and sleeping for two more nights, though, he still saw absolutely nothing. His stomach grumbled loudly. “Good thing I’m immortal,” he commented, “otherwise I’d probably be dead.” He laughed bitterly because technically he _was_ dead. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing for it, he’d have to head back to camp.

It took him nearly twice as long to get back to camp; by the time he did, he was sore all over, his head was pounding, and his legs were shaking badly. He tried to remember if there was any food in the aircraft carrier. He didn’t remember seeing any. He knew he’d seen some fish while he was swimming. If he could just…

Bucky collapsed near the entrance of the aircraft carrier and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Bucky had no idea how long he slept. When he woke up, his muscles didn’t hurt anymore, but he was still tired, and his head was pounding something awful. He felt hungover. Bucky stared into the water. He didn’t see any fish. He sighed and decided to dive in; figured it was the only way to find any fish. And after swimming for a short while, he did. Bucky hadn’t spent any time figuring out how to catch the fish. He mentally reprimanded himself for being so stupid. He stared at the silvery fish meandering around. There had to be _some way_ he could trap them or— _that’s it!_

Bucky concentrated on the fish and formed a force field around them. The fish didn’t notice at first; they continued swimming in lazy serpentine patterns. Then their noses bumped against the edges of the forcefield and they started thrashing. Bucky tightened the forcefield around them and towed them to the surface. He climbed out of the water, the fish hovering nearby in their watery sphere. Now how to kill them… Bucky grinned darkly, levitated the fish dozens of yards above the ground, and smashed the bubble on the ice below. The fish splattered all over the ice, chunks of pink and red and silver scattering everywhere. Bucky approached the still-wriggling chunks, stomach rumbling. He’d never tried sushi before but he supposed there was a first time for everything. He’d managed to trap four of them. That should be more than enough.

He picked up a chunk of fish and bit in. Not as bad as he thought. He chewed the chunk into submission and picked up another. He continued until he was full; there were still small chunks scattered here and there. Bucky left them there. If there _were_ any other animals around, the chunks would attract them and he’d have something to talk to, or something else to eat. If not, the fish would probably keep for a few days on the ice. It only occurred to him later that the fish would be frozen and he had no way to thaw it. Not that it mattered much, because it snowed that night, and by morning, the remaining chunks were covered in a foot of snow. Not that Bucky cared, since he was currently walking east, and he was already far away from camp. He walked as far as he could before collapsing once more. He made it farther, now that he had food in his stomach. But around a week into his journey, his stomach started grumbling again and he was forced to turn back, having once more found nothing but vast expanses of ice and snow. Not even a bird. Nothing.

Bucky faced a brief moment of panic when he couldn’t see the aircraft carrier in the distance. It had snowed three feet since he left. The aircraft carrier would be buried under thick snow. Bucky walked towards a particularly big lump in the snow. He blasted the snow off of it. Turned out to be a hill. He approached the next large protrusion. Another hill. It took him an extra two days to rediscover the aircraft carrier. He needed to mark it off somehow, build a wall or an arrow or something to mark the edge of camp. He thought of making a flag, but the way the wind whipped in the periodic blizzards had him thinking this was a bad idea: a flag would catch the wind and quickly be torn away. He wound up tearing a lake into the ice nearby and building an ice wall, with wide holes to pass through since it was only to mark a location, in a wide arc around the aircraft carrier. Afterward, he went fishing in the lake and enjoyed another night of sushi.

Bucky had no more luck traveling south, or west. More sleeping. More sushi. More snow. Northeast, nothing. Northwest, nothing. No matter what direction Bucky traveled, he found nothing but ice and snow. Bucky became frustrated with this lack of progress. There _had_ to be a faster way to travel. He found himself daydreaming about flying. _Hell, why not._ He could. He just had to figure out how.

The first attempt was completely unsuccessful. Bucky attempted to levitate himself with his mind, the same way he’d levitated rocks and other objects. It proved to be confusing and unproductive. He stroked his chin, forever coated with half a day’s growth of stubble, and contemplated various things he could jump off of. His eyes rested on the aircraft carrier.

It was the highest object around; it only made sense.

Climbing onto it was easier said than done. The surface was smooth and slippery, nothing but metal and ice. He wished his fingers were pointier so he could just—sadly, willing his fingers to become pointier did not alter his fingers. _Guess that’s too much to ask for._ “No one said your job would be easy, James,” he mimicked badly, sticking out his tongue. Bucky carved out hand- and footholds and climbed onto the aircraft carrier the hard way. The top was just as slippery as the sides. He had to carve more footholds so he didn’t fall off.

Upon reaching the highest point, Bucky paused before jumping off. He had no idea what he was going to do once he jumped. When he’d saved Steve from falling out of the same damned vehicle, they had been miles above the ground. Bucky was mere _yards_ above the ground. He had no idea how long he had to fall before he could start flying, if he had to take a running start, what he needed to be thinking or feeling in order to do it.

Bucky decided to trust his instincts and leap.

Turns out his instincts sucked. He crash-landed onto the ice below, concussing himself and breaking his left arm. He groaned and pushed himself to his feet, head spinning. _What was I doing?_ he thought fuzzily, spots swimming before his eyes. He stumbled towards the aircraft carrier. _Where am I?_ Bucky tripped over the entrance and landed face-down on his injured arm. He groaned. _What’d I drink last night?_ Bucky pushed himself up once more and slipped on the ice. _Why’s ‘ere so much ice?_ He blinked around blearily. Everything seemed to be misty, or underwater. “Steve?” he croaked. He couldn’t find Steve. “Steve!” he croaked louder. He leaned against a wall, holding his head with his good arm. There was blood running down his left arm from his shoulder. _Thass not good._ Bucky glanced down at his bloody sleeve. _Must’ve gotten into a fight_. He laughed weakly to himself, consciousness fading. “Steve?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N -- I realized after I wrote this chapter that some events bear an amusing resemblance to Star Wars. (For those who missed it, Bucky practiced moving rocks so he could lift a ship out of the water.) This was completely unintentional. My friends urged me to leave it in.
> 
> Also: the opinions voiced by the Bucky in this story in no way reflect the author's opinions on Bucky. The author's opinions are much closer to Steve's.


	5. The Winter Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm looking to the sky to save me  
> Looking for a sign of life  
> Looking for something to help me burn out bright  
> I'm looking for a complication  
> Looking 'cause I'm tired of lying  
> Make my way back home when I learn to fly high.
> 
> \-- "Learn to Fly" -Foo Fighters

* * *

 

Bucky woke up on his side, cheek against ice, with vague half-formed memories of passing out drunk after a barfight. The memories didn’t seem quite right, though. He couldn’t remember any of the details. It wasn’t like him to get that drunk. And why was he on _ice?_ Bucky opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. The floor was tilted and covered in ice. The walls were metal. _Where the fuck am I?_

Bucky sat up, wincing when he put weight on his left arm. He looked down. The wound had frozen shut. There was a puddle of blood beneath him, also frozen. He frowned. _That’s not good._ He wondered how he’d lost so much blood and lived through it. He tried to move his hand. It was fused to the ice with blood. He tried to stand and tugged at it, disoriented. He finally broke free with a loud crack and stumbled backwards. He’d felt a pop in his shoulder. He crashed backward onto the ice, hitting his head again. Everything went dark.

When he woke up, he was on his back. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Metal. His back was on a cold, hard surface which he realized slowly was ice. Bucky sat up with a groan. _What did they_ put _in those_ drinks? he wondered. He had very vague memories about stumbling home drunk, but this didn’t seem right. This wasn’t his apartment. He had no idea where he was.

Bucky slowly pushed to his feet. He had to rely entirely on his right arm; his left arm hung limply at his side, sleeve stiff with frozen blood. _The fuck happened last night?_

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that just made him dizzy. Prob’ly because of the blood loss. He frowned. “Stevie?” he called out, voice creaky and rough. He was thirsty. He looked around for a faucet. Didn’t see any. He did a double-take at the door. There _was_ no door. And outside the empty doorway was a ton of snow. Bucky trudged towards the snow and shoved a handful in his mouth. It melted; he swallowed greedily at the half-melted snow. He swallowed several mouthfuls and wiped off his mouth with his right hand.

“Steve…?” he called, stumbling outside. He saw nothing besides wide expanses of snow glittering in the sunlight. “I think I broke my arm.” He realized dimly that Steve, wherever he was, could not hear him. “The fuck am I,” he mumbled, making his way back into the large metal thing.

“Hello?” he called, using his diaphragm. His greeting echoed off the curved metal walls. He saw a puddle of blood on the floor with something sticking out of it. He stumbled over. It was part of his sleeve. Bucky looked down at his useless arm. Part of the sleeve was missing. _I need help._ He stumbled deeper into the ship, slipping several times on the ice. “Hello? Anyone here?” His voice echoed off the empty walls. No one answered. “Stevie?” he said with less volume, scared. He saw a block of ice on the floor. He crawled towards it. There was something familiar about the block of ice. “…Steve?” he asked, with no idea why he would be hoping Steve would somehow emerge from a block of ice the size of a coffin. He tripped and landed on an indentation in the ice. He wriggled until it fit his body perfectly, lying on his good arm. This, too, felt inexplicably familiar. He frowned and pushed himself up on his right elbow. “Steve?”

Under several inches of ice, suspended in the frozen block, was Steve Rogers. Bucky blinked rapidly. Steve was wearing a ridiculous star-spangled outfit. Bucky knew Steve was proud to be an American, but he never pinned him for someone to wear an outfit _that_ ridiculous. There was something else off about Steve, though. Aside from the fact that he was frozen in a block of ice wearing a star-spangled outfit. Then it hit him. Steve Rogers was five foot two and weighed ninety pounds. Maybe it was the ice, but he looked about twice that size. Heck, he looked taller than _Bucky._ “Thought you were smaller,” he mumbled. He stared at Steve’s sleeping face. _That’s Steve, all right._ His frown deepened. He peered closer, forehead pressed against the ice. “How th’ heck did you get in there?” he slurred. Steve didn’t respond. Bucky squinted his eyes. “You under s’m kinda spell or something? –Look like Snow White.” This struck Bucky as funny. He pressed a kiss to the ice above Steve’s mouth. “G’night, princess.” He rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

* * *

 When Bucky woke up again, his head felt clearer, but he was thirsty again. His left arm hurt. He realized it needed to be set. Bucky looked around for something to brace his arm with. The closest thing he could find was a pipe. It took him a while to rip it out of the wall, but he finally succeeded. He took off his bloody coat. Removing his limp arm from the blood-soaked sleeve took a lot of struggling and grunting, but he finally succeeded at that. He grabbed his arm through his even bloodier shirtsleeve. The blood crunched under his fingers. He winced when he found his arm. There was a bone sticking out. He popped his shoulder back into place with a scream. With another scream, he set his arm. Panting, tears streaming down his face, he used the pipe as a splint and wrapped his bloody coat around it. It was far from perfect, but it should heal. Bucky was ironically grateful for a moment that Steve was such a little spitfire. He’d had lost of practice setting bones.

Bucky trudged outside and scooped up more snow. He gulped it down greedily. Fish sounded really good right now; he had no idea why. He looked around for a refrigerator of some type. It occurred to him belatedly that he was craving cold food, not wearing a coat, not feeling that cold, surrounded by snow and ice. This struck him as slightly odd. But now that his thirst was sated, he felt tired again. He rested in his bed of ice and fell asleep.

Bucky found it strange that he couldn’t remember the details of the night before. He was lying on a bed of ice, his coat was bloody and wrapped around his arm, which was braced with a pipe. Something about getting drunk..? But he didn’t feel hungover. Just thirsty. And something about a void? Angels? Bucky stumbled down the icy slope towards the open door, beyond which rested a thick blanket of snow. He gulped down several mouthfuls of snow. He wasn’t sure why, but raw fish sounded _really good_ right now. He looked at the coffin-sized ice block on which he’d slept. Something compelled him to return to it. He curled back on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. He blinked with surprise when he recognized Steve’s form below the ice. “Steve?” he croaked, voice rusty.

_Take care of him, James_ echoed a voice in his head. His temples throbbed. Bucky massaged his forehead. No one called him James, except his dad when he was angry. He hadn’t seen his dad in years. Once Steve had taken to calling him Bucky, so had everyone else. No one called him James anymore. _hereby declare you_ echoed that same voice, _guardian angel_. Bucky scrunched up his face and rubbed his forehead. “What a weird fuckin’ dream,” he muttered. His head was throbbing. Fragmented memories of drowning, screaming, yelling at Steve, flashed across his consciousness. With those fragments came feelings of panic and an overwhelming need to protect. And, strangely, heartbreak. Bucky couldn’t figure out why he’d feel heartbroken. Must have been a dream. He’d been having some weird dreams last night. Bucky sat up and rubbed his forehead. He needed another drink. He stumbled down the ice and gulped down more snow. His stomach rumbled. Suddenly he felt the ghost of the sensations of chomping down on raw fish. Must have been another dream; he’d never done that before. His brain felt like it was being stabbed. Bucky stumbled back into the bed.

_I love you_ , Steve’s voice said. Tears pricked at Bucky’s eyes. His head hurt so bad. “Steve,” he pleaded. Was he still dreaming? Why was Steve under the ice? –Another memory fragment, a weird dream he must’ve had where he had superpowers. The pain in Bucky’s head was too much. He lost consciousness.

* * *

Bucky’s eyes shot open. _Steve!_ He sat up and stared at his friend, encased in ice. _Oh Steve!_ He hugged him through the ice. “Steve,” he moaned. His left arm was stiff and cold; his shirts badly needed washing. “I’m sorry I’m such an awful guardian angel. I promise I’ll do better,” he mumbled against the ice. He didn’t remember much after he’d jumped off of the aircraft carrier, but he knew he hadn’t done anything productive since then. He was severely slacking off on his job to protect Steve.

Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead through the ice. This provoked the foggy memory of calling Steve ‘Snow White’ and kissing him through the ice. He blushed and made his way out of the aircraft carrier. He was thirsty and needed to go fishing. Swimming was out of the question with his gimp arm. He’d have to fish from shore.

Bucky hunkered down on the edge of the water and looked for fish. He didn’t see any. He leaned over carefully and poked his head underwater. He found one and formed a forcefield around it, capturing it. He killed it the same way as last time and ate the chunks. He was glad that Steve didn’t see him eating like this; he was sure he looked wild, with his bloody coat, broken arm, eating chunks of raw fish off the ground. He vowed to himself that if he ever told Steve what he’d done while they waited to be rescued, he’d never tell him about this part. He’d fib and say he cooked them or something; Steve would be wondering what he’d eaten.

Steve would be wondering a lot of things. He wasn’t sure if Steve remembered his fall from the aircraft carrier, but he’d be willing to bet that the only reason Steve hadn’t questioned him about this was because he hadn’t had time. He would also be wondering how Bucky had managed to escape with him from the sinking ship, and how it was that Steve was frozen but Bucky wasn’t. How Bucky had survived all this time. _Found a fishing rod_ , he practiced lying, _and some matches, and some stuff on the ship that was flammable. Had myself a bunch of bonfires, ate some fish. Had a pretty good time, except I was lonely._ He wasn’t sure if Steve would buy it. He just needed to slap on his most charming smile and lie as convincingly as possible.

It took Bucky several weeks to recover from his injury. During this time he practiced his skills with forcefields and manipulating objects with his mind. Levitating and moving objects was still relatively easy. Forcefields took more practice, but he was getting better at them. They were bigger and stronger, and didn’t take as much effort to cast.

Bucky spent his nights tucked in close to Steve. He missed the stars, but not as much as he missed Steve. It seemed so cruel, him being there but not being there. He had no idea how many months it had been. The longer he stayed out here, the more certain he became that no one was going to find them unless he did something about it.

Taking off the splint was definitely not fun. Frozen blood was still caked to his coat and the sleeve underneath, and his skin under that. He could move and flex his arm, but the muscles had definitely atrophied somewhat. He needed to work out and make it stronger as soon as he could put weight on it. He took off his blood-soaked shirt and rinsed both his shirt and his coat in the water. This attracted some fish; he caught them and ate them. He donned the soaking wet garments. They were stained, but at least they weren’t caked with blood anymore.

Bucky set about his task with renewed determination. Even if angels can’t die, being incapacitated like that was unacceptable. He needed to take better care of himself. He climbed on top of the aircraft carrier, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, concentrated, and jumped, this time with the aim of going forward.

It worked.

Bucky’s eyes were screwed shut, but he hadn’t hit the ground yet. He opened his eyes. He was flying.

* * *

Bucky spent the next month or so learning to fly. Landings were rough for a while; he landed on his left arm more than once, but fortunately didn’t break it again. When he wasn’t flying, he was doing situps and pushups, rebuilding his muscles. He needed to eat nearly every day in order to keep up with the calories he was burning. He found that the more he exhausted himself physically, the more food he needed; the more he exhausted his powers, the longer he slept. And like any muscle, his powers needed to be exercised. He started off small and built up bigger and bigger until he’d mastered something; then he needed to practice it.

Once he’d mastered flying, he donned his aviator goggles and grabbed his compass and set off north. He was able to get much farther with flying; he didn’t need to rest as long or as often. However, after flying for nearly two weeks in a northerly direction, he still found nothing but ice and snow. He headed back to camp.

Taking off from the ground had been awkward at first. The easiest way to do it was to take a running leap and use a slanted ice slab as a springboard. Sometimes it took a while before he found one; he tried to always land by one so he could lean against it as he slept, plus he wouldn’t have to look for one when he woke up.

Bucky flew in each of the cardinal directions and found nothing. Part of him admired Steve’s ability to land so far from civilization. Another part admired that ironically and was frustrated that he wasn’t closer to people that could rescue him.

Two years had passed without Bucky keeping track of them.

Bucky continued his determined search for civilization, but each time he returned empty-handed.

After the third year had come and gone, Bucky had searched in a two week radius in every direction from camp and found absolutely nothing.

Bucky felt like a shitty angel, despite his efforts. He knew at least a year had passed, though he wasn’t keeping track, and he hadn’t happened across a single person, hadn’t seen a single plane. “Jeez, Stevie. When you land away from civilization, you _really_ land away from civilization!” Steve’s frozen form said nothing. Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. “Well,” he said, sitting next to him, legs crossed. “Now what.” He leaned over as though expecting an answer from Steve. “Suppose I could try flying faster,” he noted. Steve seemed to silently agree.

Bucky spent another year learning to fly faster. The landings were rough again for a while until he learned how to adjust speed mid-flight. He dislocated his left arm three times. “Always the left arm,” he grunted, popping it back into place yet again. He also managed to twist each of his ankles at least once. But at least he didn’t break any more bones.

Once he’d learned to fly faster, he set off again in the four cardinal directions. This time, he found a family of sea lions far to the east. To the southwest, he found a small fishing village. He tried communicating with the natives, but they only spoke French. Bucky had a very limited vocabulary in French, and was very rusty. He ended up getting frustrated, waving good-bye, and saying “Thanks anyways” before departing again. He suspected the villagers had seen him flying, because they had all been huddled close together and were looking at him strangely. Couldn’t be helped; their tiny settlement was so small he’d nearly missed it.

Unfortunately, even with his improved speed, that was the only human settlement he was able to find.

Most of the fifth year was spent at camp due to the sheer amount of blizzards. When he was able to venture out, he resumed his search for civilization. Always came back empty though.

He was always immensely relieved to return from his trips and cuddle with his ice block. Even if Steve wasn’t conscious, at least he was _there_. Even if he couldn’t hear him, at least Bucky could talk to him. Even if he couldn’t feel his arms around him, at least Bucky could put them there.

Dirty dreams still haunted him every so often; when they did Bucky went swimming. The cold water helped. Nothing shriveled one’s dick quite like sub-zero temperatures.

The sixth and seventh years were spent flying and re-flying in every direction he could, searching for civilization. He cleaned off the aircraft carrier regularly, so that it would be clearly visible to any passing airplanes, but he had yet to see one pass overhead. But Bucky refused to give up. He knew Steve was meant for more than this. The Powers-That-Be wouldn’t have kept Steve Rogers preserved in ice unless he was gonna be rescued and thawed out at some point. Bucky was gonna do everything in his power to make sure that rescue happened.

* * *

By the eighth year Bucky was frustrated and bored. Flying didn’t require as much concentration anymore, and his mind kept wandering mid-flight. Bucky shoved back the repeated thoughts about Steve. The only thoughts he allowed himself to concentrate on were related to saving him and finding civilization. A small portion of his thoughts were dedicated to self-preservation, but once he was more used to the limitations of being an angel, this required very little thought at all.

Bucky figured he’d switch his strategy and concentrate on making base as visible from the sky as possible. He created several ice lakes in the area around the aircraft carrier. With the ice slabs he removed, he built a large perimeter fence. Then decided the fence was too small to see from the sky and wondered if he could build an ice castle out of them. He dedicated several months to building an ice castle. The ice castle wasn’t the most beautiful piece of architecture, but it was sturdy. Bucky wished he’d read more fairytales when he was a kid. Maybe he’d have a better idea of what castles looked like. He wished he could ask Steve. Steve had always loved fairytales; he probably had all kinds of ideas about fairytale architecture.

The next few years were dedicated to sculpting the ice. He managed this by a combination of makeshift hand tools found in the aircraft carrier, mastering the art of levitation, and chipping away at the ice with his mind. However, he found using hand tools was more efficient. He exhausted himself too quickly when he carved the ice with his mind. He reserved that for detail work.

Bucky had always been very good with his hands. After a while, he was carving entirely by hand, including precision work. He sculpted horses and dogs and cats, cannons, tanks, trees—anything he could think of. In the center of the castle, surrounded by his various other sculptures, was a life-sized likeness of Steve Rogers wearing his Captain America costume, with his hand on the shoulder of his smaller self. The taller Steve Rogers was smiling that cocksure smile he always gets when he’s sure he’s right. His stance was confident, his eyes playful. The smaller Steve Rogers was more serious, his eyebrows drawn together, his expression earnest, jaw tilted with determination. He was wearing a simple button-down shirt and pants that were slightly too big, the outfit Steve had worn nearly every day. All the other statues were arranged in a ring around them, facing the twin Steves.

The castle itself was still plain-looking. Bucky figured he was finally ready and started carving details into the castle itself. The windows looked like they were framed by real cobblestones. The floors looked like they had real carpets. The castle slowly took shape, spires and stones and windows appearing and being honed. The ice was buffered until it was translucent. The sun shone beautifully through the ice, making the castle and the sculptures inside sparkle.

Bucky had spent over five years on this castle. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but he figured it was more than time to start looking for civilization again. He spent the next two years searching. But he always came back empty-handed.

Sometime during the twentieth year, a blizzard levelled his castle and broke all the sculptures inside. He woke one day to find himself snowed into the aircraft carrier. It took him days to scoop out a path to the outside and unbury the ship. The snow outside was building though, its lower layers compressed under the weight of the snow above it. The aircraft carrier was now sitting on a firm bed of snow; before, parts of it had been suspended in the air.

During another particularly long blizzard in the twenty-second year, Bucky got bored and started experimenting with his powers again. He wondered, since he could get injured, but was somehow bulletproof, exactly how invincible he was. He had a theory. Bucky concentrated on one hand and attempted to push it through a wall. He was surprised and a little scared the first time it worked. He worked little by little. By the end of the storm, he was able to turn both hands non-corporeal and reach through walls. He waited until he was completely sure he wouldn’t fuck it up, then reached through the ice block and touched Steve’s face. He couldn’t really feel it, since he was too afraid to turn his hand corporeal again. He didn’t want to hurt Steve. But just to have his hand so close was comforting.

Bucky spent the next several years searching for civilization and practicing becoming non-corporeal.

* * *

 Thirty years had passed. The aircraft carrier was slowly becoming buried by layers of snow. Bucky steadfastly cleared off the top after every storm, but gave up trying to clean around it as well. The landscape was changing. His lakes were still there; he’d mastered the art of fishing.

Sometime during the thirty-fifth year, Bucky heard a distantly familiar noise. He ran outside and looked around excitedly. Far above, almost too small to see, a plane whirred overhead. He tried shouting and signaling to it, forgetting for a moment how small and far away he was. The plane flew past, unheeding. Bucky set about trying to mark Steve’s location again.

But his ice sculptures always got buried or destroyed, his ice walls were invisible from overhead, his lakes were invariably covered in snow. He tried carving giant words into the snow, but wind always blew the letters out of shape, collapsing them in upon themselves.

Over forty years had passed. Bucky had taken to sitting next to Steve and talking about what he’d done. Where he’d traveled, what he’d built. He’d tell him about the skills he’d discovered, how good he’d gotten at using his powers. He described everything with animated hand motions and lively expressions, his blue-gray eyes twinkling, smooth voice beating out a friendly cadence. He knew Steve couldn’t hear him, but talking to his ice-encased friend made him feel better anyway.

By the forty-fifth year, Bucky had started spinning stories. He’d spend hours describing imaginary worlds, acting out various characters and scenes. He hunched over and faked a limp for the old woman, stood absurdly upright and pursed his lips for the persnickety prince, flounced around on his tiptoes for the bubbly princess, turned around and hugged and groped himself when the prince and princess kissed. All the while pretending Steve could hear him.

Planes started flying by more frequently as the years passed, but Bucky had yet to attract a single one.

By the fiftieth year, Bucky was fairly sure that he wasn’t going to find civilization, no matter how many times he flew two weeks away in any given direction. He started flying out less frequently. Instead, he spent his time discovering and honing new powers.

By the sixtieth year, Bucky had mastered telekinesis, forcefields, levitation, turning corporeal and non-corporeal, turning invisible, and started combining these powers out of sheer boredom. His stories started getting wilder and more surreal. He started coming up with legends, about how snow was invented, and about fairies that danced in the northern lights. He’d created an entire lore based around the underwater fish kingdom.

Bucky knew they’d been stranded for decades; he had no idea how many. He put his storytelling skills to use by inventing a lie to tell Steve about how he’d survived so long; _I don’t know how it happened, Stevie, but one minute we were drowning, and the next thing I know, we’re waking up and they’re telling us we were frozen. Crazy, right?_ He could’ve put all sorts of detail into it, but he wanted to keep it believable.

It had been over sixty years. Bucky stared up at the unbelievably beautiful night sky and wondered idly if he could harness the Northern Lights. He tried to form a forcefield around a small portion of them. He was only half-surprised when he retrieved a green glowing orb. He grinned and harnessed a few more, of various sizes. He got a purple one, too. The purple one was always his favorite. He towed his glowing orbs into the aircraft carrier and sat next to Steve. “Look what I can do!” he announced. He made the orbs dip and dance around each other, spin and twirl at varying speeds. The lights kept dancing inside the orbs. The icy floor and the glittering metal walls were illuminated by the soft glow of the harnessed lights. Bucky grinned at Steve. The orbs hovered slowly up to the ceiling. Bucky released them. For the rest of the night, his little portion of the Northern Lights danced and shimmered against the ceiling of the aircraft carrier.

Come morning, though, they were gone. Bucky didn’t know how exactly the Northern Lights worked, but he was kind of beyond caring at that point. He made up a story about how the lights travelled back to join their mother. He captured portions of the lights several times after that and brought them in to show Steve. He continued making ice sculptures and honing his powers. He continued telling stories.

Years passed. Planes started flying overhead more frequently. The aircraft carrier was almost completely buried; Bucky had to phase through the roof to get inside anymore. The opening was buried long ago.

Whenever Bucky saw a plane at night, he directed portions of the Northern Lights towards the mostly-buried aircraft carrier. He was able to conduct bigger and bigger sections towards the ship.

This anomaly did not go unnoticed. Reports started coming in of the Aurora Borealis acting strangely in a section of rural Canada. Scientists decided to fly down and investigate. The location was made more interesting because it was rumored that this was the place the legendary Captain America had crashed his airplane.

* * *

Bucky woke up in the middle of the night. He heard voices outside. They were muffled through the walls of the aircraft carrier.

[ **Don’t let them see you.** ]

Bucky jumped. “Gah! Where did you come from?!”

[ **I’ve always been here. A search party is coming. Don’t let them see you.** ]

Bucky frowned, completely unsatisfied by this answer, but not wanting to argue with a being who had power over life and death. “Mind explaining why?”

[ **There isn’t time. They’re coming, James.** ]

Bucky heard a scraping noise on the outside of the aircraft carrier. Someone was climbing it. Bucky strained his ears, trying to hear what they were saying. A beam of red light cut through the roof at the high end of the aircraft carrier. A small pool of moonlight filtered down through the opening. Someone unfurled a chain ladder and climbed down. Bucky went invisible.

Several more men followed down the ladder. Their boots clunked on the floor, echoing off the blank metal walls. Their flashlights swept every which way. _Here, here, he’s right over here!_ Bucky willed them to come closer. One man approached Steve’s ice block, flashlight brandished in front of him. The beam caught the corner of the ice block. “Lieutenant!” the man called.

“My god…” another one said, coming closer, shining his light on the ice block. Steve’s sleeping face was illuminated through the ice. The man picked up a radio at his waste. “Base! Get me a line to the colonel. …I don’t care what time it is! This one’s waited long enough.”

“What’s that strange indentation in the ice next to him?” asked the first one. “Looks like someone’s been sleeping there.” He shined his flashlight slowly over the indentation which Bucky’s body had made in the ice all those years ago.

“I don’t know,” said the second one, looking around warily. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

“Gotta un-freeze him from the floor first.”

The men set about chiseling under Steve’s ice block. Bucky cringed with every strike. They were too close to Steve’s body for comfort. _They’ll hurt him!_

Bucky made sure they didn’t. Each time a chisel got too close, he deflected it with a forcefield he’d formed around Steve. The chisels bounced off, as though the ice was too hard in places. The men kept glancing around as though they were being watched. They worked quickly to pry Steve’s ice block from the floor.

Once freed, it took several men to push Captain America’s ice block to the opening. They wrapped the ice block in a rough harness and signaled to the others to lift him out. Lights swept the surface of the ice. Vehicles gathered. More and more men swarmed across the ice, conferring with each other, pointing at the ice block with their flashlights and talking excitedly. Bucky hovered above and nearby, invisible and non-corporeal. He stayed near Steve as they loaded him into the airplane which flew him to civilization. Watched over him in the freezer. Followed him into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where they carefully carved him out of the ice; Bucky covered Steve with a skintight forcefield to make sure they didn’t hurt him. Using his powers this much for this long was exhausting. But he had to make sure Steve was safe.

They slowly brought Steve up to a normal human body temperature; Bucky’s body temperature rose as well. Still unconscious, Steve was rolled into a room which looked like something straight out of Brooklyn in the 1940s. Bucky felt immediately uneasy about this. Sure, he’d lied to Steve before, but the idea of others lying to Steve rankled him. A nurse put a disc into what looked like a 1940s radio, pressed play, and walked out of the room. Bucky was too tired to maintain both invisibility and non-corporeality anymore, plus he was curious. He strode over to the radio and opened it. The CD was marked with a date and a baseball game. Bucky set the shiny disc on the dresser. He wasn’t sure what exactly the disc was or what it did, but if it was going to make a recording of that game come out of that radio, which is what he supposed it would do, their lie would immediately be detected by Steve. While Bucky hated the idea of others lying to Steve and did want him to see right through them, he didn’t want Steve to receive a shock immediately upon waking up.

Bucky strode over to the bed and curled next to Steve in exactly the same position he’d been sleeping for the past who-knows-how-many years. He’d noticed a camera in the corner of the room, and maintained his invisibility for as long as he could. Steve unconsciously turned his head towards him, still in a deep sleep. Bucky’s eyes drifted shut as well.


	6. Culture Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on top of the world living high  
> It was right in my pocket  
> I was living the life  
> Things were just the way they should be
> 
> When, from out of the sky, like a bomb  
> Comes some little punk in a rocket  
> Now all of a sudden  
> Some strange things are happening to me
> 
> I had friends, I had lots of friends  
> Now all my friends are gone  
> And I'm doing the best I can to carry on
> 
> I had power, I was respected  
> But not anymore  
> And I've lost the love  
> The one whom I adored
> 
> Let me tell you about  
> The strange things are happening to me  
> Strange things  
> Strange things are happening to me  
> Ain't no doubt about it
> 
> \--"Strange Things" -Randy Newman

* * *

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his back on a relatively comfortable bed, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He felt Bucky’s familiar arms around him, soft lips parted against his shoulder, snoring softly. He turned and smiled at his friend. Bucky’s thick brown hair was delightfully mussed. His thick dark eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. Steve reached out to smooth Bucky’s hair. It was badly in need of washing. Steve rolled carefully onto his side to face Bucky. The last thing he remembered was nosing an aircraft carrier into the ice somewhere in rural Canada. The plane had crashed and filled with water. He’d confessed to Bucky, finally saying those words out loud, right before the water came up over their heads and he could no longer speak. Bucky had said it too. Steve wondered if he meant it, if he had fully understood. Steve gently caressed the side of Bucky’s face. Bucky’s breath continued coming out in quiet rumbles. Steve smiled softly at him.

The door opened. A nurse with red lipstick and winged black eyeliner cautiously walked in, holding a clipboard. “Captain..?” she greeted.

Steve smiled at her past Bucky and nudged him a bit. “Bucky,” he murmured quietly. “Time to get up.” Bucky continued snoring softly. Steve chuckled. “Sorry,” he said to the nurse, “He’s a little tired.”

The nurse looked at him strangely. She jotted something down in her notepad. “How are you feeling?” she inquired, eyebrows creased.

“Alive,” he stated with surprise. “I thought we were dead back there!”

The nurse frowned at him and took half a step back. “We?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “Me and Bucky.”

The nurse looked away and shifted uneasily. “Sir… Sergeant Barnes didn’t survive the crash.”

Steve’s grip tightened around Bucky. “What are you talking about? He’s right here!”

She shook her head slowly. “His body was never recovered. We’re sorry, Cap—we know you were close.”

Steve’s gut twisted. He felt hot and cold at the same time. “Is this funny to you?”

She backed away another step, frowning and slightly scared. “Wh-what?”

Steve raised his voice. “I _told_ you, he’s RIGHT HERE!” Steve indicated his sleeping friend.

The nurse pressed something in her left hand. A red light flashed.

Bucky snorted when Steve raised his voice. He opened his eyes and groggily sat up. “Whass goin’ on,” he slurred, swaying, eyes bloodshot.

“They think you died in the crash,” Steve ground out, radiating angry energy.

Bucky frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What kinda bullshit is that?”

Steve gestured emphatically.

Three men dressed in black, wearing face masks, entered the room, guns drawn. They muttered something which was muffled by their masks and gestured to each other, to the nurse, and to Steve. They started approaching Steve.

Steve panicked and jumped backwards out of the bed, looking like a caged animal. Bucky squinted over his shoulder to see what had startled Steve. His eyes widened. “Shit!” He scrambled after Steve. Steve looked at the wall, then at the men. He hurled his body at the wall, crashed through it, and ran outside. “Steve!!” Bucky called after him. _Not again!_

They were in a warehouse of some sort. Bucky vaguely remembered they were at a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. They pushed past several concerned and surprised S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, most of which flinched or stepped out of their way without thinking. Bucky noted with detached surprise that Steve wasn’t wearing his Cap uniform anymore. He remembered vaguely that they’d removed it after they’d thawed him.

Steve ran out the glass doors and out into the street, almost getting hit by several cars in the process. Bucky shouted his name after him. He attempted to erect a forcefield around Steve, but he was too tired to do even that. Steve paused in the middle of a busy crosswalk and surveyed his surroundings, mouth open, completely bewildered. Bucky stood right next to him, equally confused. The billboards moved. The buildings were all different. The cars were all different. Billboards had lights now, _how long had billboards had lights?_

They were both still staring around the city when a man in an eyepatch approached them. The man was dressed completely in black and had a gait which commanded authority. “We thought we’d break it to you slowly, Cap.”

“Break what?” Steve responded, angry, disoriented, and slightly winded.

The man briefly considered his next words. “You’ve been asleep, Cap. For nearly seventy years.”

_So_ that’s _how long it’s been. Fuck, no wonder everything looks so weird!_ Bucky wanted to ask why there weren’t flying cars, but held his tongue because Steve had that look on his face like his gears were grinding too hard and he wasn’t quite processing whatever was being said. “What?” Steve breathed.

The man with the eyepatch repeated himself.

Steve shook his head and held his temples, breathing heavily. Bucky helped steady him.

Abruptly, Steve whirled to face the man in the eyepatch. “What are you trying to pull?” he accused.

The man raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Your nurse tried to tell me Bucky was dead.”

The man stared steadily at Steve. “As far as we know, he is.”

Steve shook his head incredulously. “How can you say that? He’s _right here!_ ” Steve gestured to Bucky, who straightened and puffed out his chest, slightly indignant despite the fact that he really was dead.

The man with the eyepatch glanced straight through Bucky, then looked strangely at Steve. He seemed slightly disappointed. “Maybe the ice hit you harder than we thought..”

“What’s that supposed to mean!” Steve spat.

“It _means_ that either you are in denial, or you are delusional, because Bucky’s body was never found. You were alone.”

Steve shook his head and pulled Bucky into a protective hug. “How can you say that? He’s right here!!”

The man continued looking at Steve as though he’d gone slightly crazy. “That remains to be seen.”

During this exchange, Bucky’s gut was slowly twisting itself into a giant knot. Fury had looked right through him, as though he wasn’t there at all. Bucky could see himself. Steve could see him. He made an obscene gesture at a random stranger who was looking in his direction. No response. He made eye contact with another stranger. The stranger stared straight through him. Bucky began to suspect that the only person who could see him was Steve.

The man with the eyepatch stared levelly at Steve. “Now, what do you say we get you back into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and out of traffic?”

Steve abruptly remembered his surroundings and, making it no secret that he did not trust the man with the eyepatch, nodded warily and followed him.

* * *

Once inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, Steve was subjected to several visual tests. He kept protesting all the while that he was fine. The more people Bucky encountered, though, the more he was sure he was right—Steve was the only one who could see him.

Convinced that Captain Rogers’ vision was just as 20/20 as ever and he was not delusional except for the fact that he believed his long-dead friend Bucky Barnes was still in the room with him, S.H.I.E.L.D. made a note of this and had him escorted to an apartment. The apartment was stocked with clothes that Steve could fit; there was food in the refrigerator, and a working microwave, and a modern television set with cable. Steve marveled briefly at each new piece of technology. The slightly amused S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gifted him with a laptop and briefly explained the internet, but Steve was too overwhelmed at that point to take in anything else. He said he just wanted to shower and go to bed.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents left, locking the door behind them. Steve had a key. It was on his dresser.

Bucky walked around the apartment while Steve showered. The carpets were soft, all shades of rose and burgundy. The bathroom was tiled; the kitchen covered in flat interlocking squares which Bucky later learned was linoleum. It was rather sparsely stocked, with a week’s worth of outfits for Steve, a stick of deodorant on his dresser, some rather basic items in the pantry and refrigerator- milk, eggs, butter, flour, sugar, carrots, lettuce, oats- and the like. Things to cook with. Bucky was hungry, but now that Steve was in the shower, Bucky realized he was desperately in need of one himself.

Bucky finished his cursory glance around the apartment when he heard the bathroom door open. “You done in there?” he called.

“Yup,” Steve answered.

Bucky was still wearing his bloodstained army uniform. Steve frowned. “What happened to your arm?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Bucky waved away his concern. “Gonna have to borrow your clothes for a while.”

Steve smirked. “Don’t care.”

Bucky nodded, eyes traveling hungrily up and down Steve’s damp naked torso. He licked his lips subconsciously. Steve was wearing a thin pair of plaid pajama pants and nothing else. _God, even his_ feet _are beautiful._

Steve stepped closer, towel around his neck, drying out his ear, a playful smile on his face. “You need help?”

Bucky snapped out of it and took a step back. “No. I know where they are.” He turned stiffly, snatched an outfit from the bedroom, squeezed past Steve in the too-narrow hallway, chests brushing- he bit his lip- made his way into the bathroom, and closed and locked the door behind him. He set his clothes down on the counter. _That man is too damned attractive._ He blew out a pent-up breath between pursed lips. _Now to figure out how the shower works._

* * *

 The shower wasn’t too difficult to figure out. Turn this knob this way, turn that knob that way, the middle one adjusts the temperature. The soap smelled fresh and herbal. The shampoo had an interesting consistency; it was blue and gel-like and had a sharp scent that stung his nose. He saw another bottle marked ‘conditioner.’ He read the instructions on the bottle, figured he’d try something new. The consistency was beyond weird. It was white and goopy and smelled like creamy herbs. It was also impossible to rinse out.

He toweled off and donned his borrowed undershirt and pants. They were slightly big on him; he had to roll the pants up at the bottom so he wouldn’t step on them.

Steve was in the bedroom, lights dimmed, sitting on the bed. He smiled in greeting as Bucky walked in with his filthy uniform. “Uh.. dirty clothes?”

Steve pointed to a basket in the corner.

Bucky deposited the stiff, bloody, hole-ridden uniform. “Thanks.”

“You’re gonna keep that?”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” He stared down at it.

Steve moved forward on the bed. “So what happened to your arm?”

Bucky folded his arms, spine stiffening. “…Got hurt in the crash.”

Steve frowned. “Did it? I don’t remember that..”

Bucky shrugged and turned around. “Yeah, well, it all happened pretty fast, so. Maybe it happened and we just didn’t notice.” He wondered if he should tell Steve. He felt like he ought to. _Was there a rule against telling him?_

Steve’s face was thoughtful. “Maybe.” His thoughtful face deepened. His eyes met Bucky’s. “Am I crazy?”

Bucky’s stomach flipped. Those earnest blue eyes were boring into his. Bucky had to look away. “No, Steve. You’re not crazy.”

Steve’s nervous energy was palpable. “Then why did I have to go through those tests? Why does everyone keep looking at me like that? Why does everyone keep trying to tell me you’re dead?”

Bucky wanted nothing more than to sit next to Steve, hold him in his arms, and tell him everyone _else_ was crazy. He bit his lip and hugged himself, staring at a spot on the floor. “They’re not… entirely wrong.”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to stare at Bucky’s face. “No,” he breathed out, horrified.

Bucky’s arms tightened around his ribs. “Steve… I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Bucky sighed. “Well no, actually I was never gonna tell you, if I didn’t have to.”

“Tell me what?” Steve was off the bed now, stepping swiftly towards him.

Bucky couldn’t bear to look at him. He swallowed, head turned to the side. “I died a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“What?” Steve whispered, sounding broken.

Bucky’s chest tightened. He felt a lump in his throat. “I died in a back alley before the war, okay?!” he snapped, angry at himself for lying to Steve for so long. The words came tumbling out. “Those guys that beat you up and kept calling you a fairy? I hunted them down. I tried to take them all on myself. It was dumb, I know that! But they beat me up and then next thing I know I was in this dark room and this weird voice was talkin’ to me and I begged not to die and leave you behind and the voice seemed to know everything about me and I don’t know, maybe it was God, I’m not even sure I believe in God, but there must be somethin’ out there, because that weird deep voice keeps talkin’ to me, and he said I’m your guardian angel, and he sent me back and I woke up in the alley next to my dead body and I went home and you were there and I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to worry, so I went about life like normal, like nothing had happened, because I didn’t want you to worry, I just wanted to keep you safe—!” Bucky broke off sobbing, his cheeks already soaked.

Steve had stood in front of him, letting this sink in as he spoke. His head was spinning. “Guardian angel?” Steve repeated, stepping closer, hand outstretched.

Bucky flinched and kept sobbing. “Yeah, I’m supposed to protect you!”

Steve digested this information, earnest eyes examining Bucky’s face. He reached up and tenderly wiped away the tears on Bucky’s left cheek. “Bucky…”

Bucky sobbed harder. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I lied to you for so long but I just couldn’t tell you! I didn’t want to hurt you like that, telling you I was dead!” He brought both hands up to cover his face, shoulder shaking with sobs. “I’m sorry I’m such a shitty angel! You deserve so much better than me! I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry!”

Steve stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Bucky. “Bucky,” he said again. He didn’t sound angry. The goddamn punk sounded _forgiving._

Bucky sank against him, sobbing, feeling like the worst angel in the world. Steve stroked his back comfortingly with one hand and held him close with the other. His body was warm and welcoming. Bucky cried himself out. With a sniffle, he said “I understand if you never trust me again…”

Steve’s arms tightened around him. “Of course I trust you.” His voice was warm and sure.

Bucky felt like crying all over again. “Why?! I’m such a shitty friend. I took you on all those dates you didn’t even want to go on. It was always about me, me, me! And then I died and I didn’t even tell you. I lied to you for over seventy years. How can you trust me after that!”

Steve caressed the nape of Bucky’s neck. “Yeah, Bucky,” he said with soft sarcasm, “You’re such a shitty friend for trying to make me happy, and looking after me all the time. And worrying about my feelings? God, what an asshole.”

Bucky’s hands slid away from his face. He buried his forehead against Steve’s neck and let his arms come up around Steve’s waist. “But I lied to you…”

Steve shrugged. “Everyone lies.”

“Steve, this is serious.”

“So am I.” Steve’s voice was earnest. “Bucky, I was asleep for most of those seventy years.” He paused. “Were you?”

Bucky remained silent.

“Bucky…!” Steve held him marginally tighter. “Were you awake that whole time?”

Bucky swallowed. “Not the _whole_ time…”

Steve nuzzled the side of Bucky’s head. Comfort radiated off of his body like waves. Bucky had never been to the ocean before, but he was sure it wasn’t nearly this peaceful. “Oh Bucky,” Steve said very quietly, near his ear, lips pressed into his hair.

Bucky’s grip tightened on Steve’s back. “…You’re not mad?”

Steve buried his nose in Bucky’s hair. “Of course I’m not mad! I can’t even imagine what you must have been through.”

_You’re worth it._ Bucky leaned against Steve. “I could tell you about it sometime, if you want.”

Steve smiled into his hair. “I’d love that. But I’ve taken in too much for the day, as it is. Right now I kind of just want to sleep…”

Bucky eased his grip and leaned back, staring at Steve’s shoulder. “Then go to sleep,” he offered, knowing he was going urge Steve to take the bed so he could sleep on the floor.

Steve gently kissed his forehead. “-but I’m not that tired.”

Bucky met his eyes wryly. “You want to sleep, but you’re not tired?”

Steve smiled and nodded. Arms still around Bucky. “Mind if I just hold you for a while?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He looked away. “Uh. Actually I was sort of hungry.”

Steve slowly loosened his grip. “All right. Let’s go eat something.”

“You don’t have to…”

Steve hugged him and let go. “Now that you mention it, I’m kind of hungry too.”

They walked to the kitchen. After briefly taking stock of the pantry, Steve offered to make pancakes. Bucky shrugged and said that sounded fine. They gathered ingredients together. Steve kept smiling gently at Bucky. Every shared glance fed the warmth blooming in Bucky’s chest. Soon he was smiling back. Their elbows brushed a few times as they cooked. Bucky had decided to make a side of scrambled eggs. Steve had heartily agreed. Occasionally Steve would lean over and nudge Bucky’s shoulder with his own. Bucky would smile and nudge back.

Once their breakfast-for-dinner was cooked, they sat down at the small kitchen table. The two chairs were directly across from each other. Neither man was satisfied with this arrangement. Steve casually stretched his leg under the table until the inside of his thigh was touching Bucky’s knee. Bucky’s eyes widened briefly, but Steve was contentedly eating his pancakes. Bucky smiled privately and leaned his knee against Steve’s leg, stretching out his own leg under the table to maximize the square inches of skin touching, separated only by the thin pajama pants. Steve stretched his other leg out between Bucky’s. Bucky smirked and hugged Steve’s leg with his own under the table.

Food eaten, plates cleaned, they disentangled their legs- leaving cool spots behind where they had previously been touching- and rinsed their dishes in the sink. Steve found the dish soap. They washed and dried the dishes together, intentionally brushing elbows and bumping shoulders repeatedly. Bucky had a small smile on his face the whole time. He didn’t look at Steve’s face, but if he would have, he’d have seen a soft, warm smile on his face as well.

“Sleepy now?” Bucky asked once the dishes were put away.

Steve examined Bucky’s face, a small smile curling his plush lower lip. “Not exactly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Then what, ‘exactly,’ are you?”

Steve stepped closer. His hand cupped Bucky’s shoulder. “I still want to hold you.”

Bucky backed away as though he’d been burned, eyes darting around the kitchen. “Do you have _any idea_ how that sounds?!”

Steve took another step closer. “Bucky…”

Bucky held his hands up, face red. “No! Just- go sleep or something!”

Steve sighed. “Bucky—,”

Bucky backed into a wall, hands out in front of him. “Don’t!”

Steve examined Bucky. He looked scared. Steve wondered if he should tell him. He took another small step closer; Bucky cowered further against the wall. Steve stayed where he was. “Can’t I just celebrate the impossibility of being alive with my best friend?” He added wryly, “Even if he isn’t technically alive?”

Bucky’s hands lowered. He glanced at Steve, still clearly scared. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Steve rolled his eyes. He closed the distance between them and reached out cautiously. Bucky flinched. Steve cupped his cheek. Bucky’s jaw clenched under his fingers. He gently stroked the side of Bucky’s face, running his fingertips over his jawline. “Bucky, it’s okay.” Bucky turned away. Steve leaned closer, wondering again if he should tell him. Bucky’s breathing was quick and shallow. Steve sighed and backed away, hand trailing gently from Bucky’s chin. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

* * *

It took Steve a long time to fall asleep that night. The bed was too soft, the blankets too warm. His chest ached. There was nothing he wanted more than Bucky beside him. But Bucky was wrestling with his morals again; he’d come to Steve when he was ready. Steve hoped. He tossed and turned for hours. He woke up in the middle of the night, gasping, drenched in sweat. He hadn’t realized he was screaming Bucky’s name until Bucky ran into the bedroom, eyes wide. He was by Steve’s side in an instant, asking what was wrong.

Steve gulped and gasped, breathing heavily. “A nightmare,” he managed to get out.

Bucky looked incredibly guilty and held Steve gingerly. “It’s okay.”

Steve pulled him closer, crushing their bodies together. He murmured Bucky’s name, muffled by his shoulder. Bucky’s heart was racing. He awkwardly patted Steve on the back and said “it’s okay” again. Steve started crying. He felt something give; Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and started kissing his sweaty hair, murmuring reassurances and nuzzling him repeatedly. Steve clung to him, breathing shallowly.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Bucky said. He inhaled deeply. Steve inhaled with him. He blew out a breath, the air stirring Steve’s hair. Steve blew out a breath against his chest. “There we go. Come on, Stevie. Another.” They inhaled together, held it for a second, then exhaled together. They did this until Steve’s breathing had returned to normal.

Steve leaned back and tilted his head to look at Bucky, who was watching him, concerned. “Stay with me?” Steve pleaded.

Bucky seemed hesitant.

Steve locked gazes with him, eyes pleading.

Bucky relented. “All right.” He crawled under the blankets next to Steve and tentatively put a hand on his ribs. Steve pulled their bodies flush together almost apologetically. Bucky tensed. Steve leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes, body relaxing. Bucky relaxed ever-so-slightly and remained relatively tense until Steve fell asleep.

Bucky didn’t sleep that night.

Steve slept peacefully, though, and didn’t have any nightmares.

* * *

In the morning, Steve was full of questions. “So how come I can see you and no one else can? Is that an angel thing? Wait- you said you’ve been an angel since _before_ the war. People could see you then. Why can’t people see you now?”

Bucky shook his head. They were still lying in bed; Steve had started pestering him with questions the second he woke up. “I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I was still invisible when I fell asleep?”

“You never fell asleep invisible before?”

“No.” Bucky’s lips curled on one side; he was amused by Steve’s curiosity. “Usually I stop using my powers before I fall asleep. It’s really tiring, using them for long periods of time.”

“Powers? What else can you do?”

“Well…” Bucky bit back a chuckle as he concentrated on a lamp and made it hover just behind Steve’s head. Steve rolled over too see what Bucky was looking at, frowning, and jumped when he saw the floating lamp.

“Whoa!”

Bucky set the lamp down and laughed.

“What else can you do?” Steve asked excitedly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning. He disappeared.

“Whoa!” Steve reached out to touch him. His hand went straight through. Steve looked around the room. “Did you teleport?”

“Nope, still right here.”

Steve looked down where the indentation of Bucky’s invisible but now corporeal body was laying on the mattress beside him. He reached out and touched him, face full of wonder. “Whoa!”

Bucky turned visible again, grinning. “I can also kind of control the Northern Lights. You missed that.” He enjoyed the look on Steve’s face for a minute before holding up a finger, as though just remembering. “Oh. And I can do this.” He levitated about a foot above the bed, still lying down. He turned in the air and grinned at Steve.

“That is— _wow!”_ Steve’s eyes lit up. “Can you do that with me?”

Bucky laughed. “Never tried.” He let himself fall on the bed and concentrated on Steve. Steve started lifting over the bed. He grinned at Steve’s startled and excited look. Soon, Steve was floating about a foot over the bed. Steve laughed and turned over in the air.

“How are you doing that?!”

Bucky shrugged. “Not sure. Guess it’s an angel thing.” He lowered Steve to the bed. “Couldn’t do that before.”

Steve beamed at him. “Got anything else?”

Bucky laughed. “What, not impressed?”

Steve grinned. “Do you?”

Bucky thought for a moment, then pointed at the sunbeam coming through the open window. Some dust particles were floating in it. “See that?”

Steve twisted to look at the sunbeam. “Yeah.”

“Watch that sunbeam.” Bucky concentrated. He wasn’t sure if he could capture part of the sunbeam, but he knew he could capture some of the dust particles. He brought an orb of them over toward the bed. They were both surprised that the orb was glowing. _Guess I_ can _capture sunlight._

Steve reached out to touch it. The edge of the orb was smooth like glass, its walls invisible. “How are you doing that?”

Bucky shrugged. “Practice.” He returned the dust particles to their sunbeam and glanced at Steve.

Steve was watching the sunbeam, enchanted.

Bucky chuckled and leaned over to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky poked the indentation of Steve’s spine. Steve jumped comically. Bucky grinned and got out of bed. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

The refrigerator, the shower, and the stove were all relatively easy to get used to. Lightswitches worked the same. The alarm clocks were pretty simple. The furniture was new and plush and more luxurious than they’d have ever been able to afford in Brooklyn, but they were comfortable, so they soon got used to this as well. The carpet felt luxuriously plush—sometimes they’d just lay on the carpet and stare at the ceiling because it was so comfortable. Bucky would entertain them with his powers, but he kept burning out relatively quickly.

They slept cuddled together every night. This was part of why Bucky was so exhausted all the time: he couldn’t sleep. He’d drift off here and there for a couple hours at a time, but he’d wake up sweating, images of Steve much too vivid in his mind. He’d roll over so his back was facing Steve, and invariably Steve would roll over and spoon him.

Steve didn’t ask Bucky why he kept sleeping like that, or why Bucky was always awake before him. He was very gentle and understanding. He tried not to ask too much of Bucky; he was still somewhat blown away that Bucky had dedicated his entire life to protecting him.

Bucky was very relaxed about using his powers around Steve, even if it did tire him out. Steve never ceased to be impressed or fascinated by what Bucky could do. Bucky started telling him stories about what he’d done while Steve was asleep, including visiting with the family of sea lions, or playing with the Northern Lights, or building the ice castle. He left out the part about the statues of Steve. He told Steve about learning to fly. He explained that was how he’d stained his sleeve. Steve was concerned and sympathetic that Bucky’d had a bloody sleeve for decades, that he’d had to tend to his wound all by himself. That he’d had to do _everything_ all by himself. He always wound up sitting very close to Bucky as Bucky neared the end of his stories; by the end of that one, he was holding Bucky close.

They didn’t leave the apartment for an entire week, not until the refrigerator started getting empty and they ran out of clothes. A team of  S.H.I.E.L.D. agents showed up and showed them how to work the washing machine, the dryer, and the dishwasher. Then escorted them to the grocery store and paid for everything.

Steve and Bucky were blown away by the variety of foods. It was very difficult to pick out a moderate amount of food. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seemed very amused by what Steve and his imaginary friend picked out. There was controversy among the organization as to whether Bucky’s ghost was following Steve, whether Steve had gone crazy and was imagining him, or whether there really was an invisible man there with him. These particular S.H.I.E.L.D. agents noticed things floating near Steve a few times. Steve would look at the floating objects, then look at a face they could not see and animatedly respond, often tossing the upheld objects in the cart. They couldn’t hear the voice Steve was responding to. Steve glanced at them occasionally, looking alternately embarrassed, apologetic, and accusatory. They pretended to be aloof and disinterested.

Steve asked if they could shop for clothes as well. The agents exchanged a glance, shrugged, and said they didn’t see why not.

So after they returned to the apartment and tossed the cold things in the refrigerator/ freezer, the group set out to find clothes. One of the agents asked Steve if he had anything in particular in mind. Steve conferred with his invisible friend and announced, “Something sharp. Nothing too expensive.”

The agents warned him that there had been economic inflation since Steve had been frozen, and told him not to worry about the price tags. “In fact,” one of them said, “Don’t even look.”

Steve and Bucky looked wide-eyed around the store. There were suits, tuxes, jackets, dress shirts, and dress pants of all sorts of sizes and cuts. There was another section with semi-casual wear, and another section with jeans and the like. Steve didn’t know where to start. He and Bucky ended up carrying large stacks of clothing into the fitting rooms. Steve remembered that Bucky was invisible to everyone else when Bucky started getting some very strange looks- or rather, the floating pile of clothes beside Steve Rogers did. “Why don’t you let me carry those,” Steve offered.

They went into two adjacent dressing room stalls and emerged every two minutes to show each other their new outfits. Steve gravitated towards light blues and earthy browns. Bucky gravitated towards navy blues, dark grays, and black. They repeatedly complemented each other, laughed, turned around to look at each other from various angles, struck ridiculous poses, laughed again, and ducked in and out of their dressing rooms, each time emerging in a new outfit. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood by and watched in amusement. Steve’s taste was much more old-fashioned; he was excited when he found pants that were held up with suspenders, and a lot of his clothes aged him, and it took him a long time to find a size which almost fit him. He had to be measured.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to adjust immediately. He embraced the sleek new styles, knew exactly what size he was and what fit. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had to repeatedly turn people away and direct them towards the other fitting room so they wouldn’t see the floating outfits; no matter how well-fitting or form-flattering they were, people were bound to be alarmed. The agents were not entirely sure what was going on, but they agreed that Steve wasn’t crazy. _Someone_ was trying on clothes and making him laugh.

They emerged from the store with large bags full of clothes. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were very careful not to let Steve see the receipt. They drove him back to his apartment and asked if he needed anything else. Steve said no. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents followed him to his apartment anyway, under the excuse that they needed to help him with his bags. And they did, because _someone_ had to unlock the door. They just weren’t expecting the invisible one to do it.

They set the bags on the floor. “You’ll want to wash those before you wear them,” advised one of the agents. Steve nodded his head, taking note. The other added that directions would be on the tags. Steve nodded again. The agents lingered. “Have you used the internet?” one of them asked.

“The what?”

The agents exchanged a look. “The internet.” They briefly explained that it was like a library, except digital. Then they had to explain what digital meant, and what a computer was, and they got so flabbergasted that they wound up sitting Steve down on the couch and showing him.

Steve was fascinated by the laptop. The glowing picture on the screen was fascinating by itself, but the fact that he was able to interact with it was endlessly intriguing. They showed him a few small things, like Notepad and Microsoft Paint, to break the ice a little. Steve was fascinated by absolutely everything. They showed him how to empty the recycle bin. Explained how it worked. And then, at long last, they showed him the internet. They started out with something simple, the S.H.I.E.L.D. website. There wasn’t much that civilians could access, just a description of the organization, a button to donate, and a list of things S.H.I.E.L.D. had accomplished. The list was rather bare-bones and included none of the secret undercover missions S.H.I.E.L.D. had conducted, which was the majority of them. There were no agents named, except a few of the deceased, particularly the founders. Steve was excited to see Howard Stark and Peggy Carter on the list. Names he recognized. He asked if they were all dead.

“No,” one of the agents answered honestly, “Agent Carter is still alive.”

“But she’s…” the other one added, weighing her words. “She doesn’t remember much.”

“Amnesia?” Steve asked.

The agents exchanged a look. “Dementia,” one of them answered.

Steve was crestfallen. Bucky put a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. Steve reached up to hold it.

“But she does have moments of lucidity,” said the other one hopefully. “Perhaps we can schedule a visit with her sometime. I’m sure she would be happy to see you.”

Steve looked up hopefully. “Really?”

They nodded and said they’d make a note of it.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he believed them.

The agents showed Steve how to use Google and decided they’d crammed enough information into his head for one day. They were on their way out the door when one of them turned around. “About Bucky,” she said. Steve looked up. She continued, “We don’t think you’re crazy. We believe you.” Steve relaxed at this news, relieved with an undercurrent of excitement.

“However,” said the other agent, “We can’t see him, and we suspect no one else can, either. Please—be careful with him in public.”

“-We don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“-or cause a scene.”

“-Accidentally.”

Steve nodded. “We’ll be careful.” He smiled tightly.

Satisfied by this response, the agents left.

Steve stayed up late into the night looking at pictures of cats.

* * *

Bucky sorted and washed all their clothes in the washing machine. It was surprisingly simple and easy to get used to. Bucky was more than happy to don his new clothes. He didn’t care if he was overdressed for spending a day around the apartment. The dark gray cashmere v-neck sweater was incredibly comfortable, and the dark blue boot-cut jeans fit him like a glove. The colors really brought out his eyes. He loved it.

Steve was wearing a cream-and-burgundy plaid button-down shirt, deerskin-tan dress pants, and suspenders. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Bucky. His eyes blazed a hot trail up and down Bucky’s outfit, lingering on his thighs, his abdomen, and the chest hair curling out over the v of his sweater. “Like it?” Bucky asked with a grin, still on kind of a high from having something so flattering to wear, especially after having to wear that ratty uniform for nearly seventy years, and then having to borrow Steve’s clothes for a week.

“I love it,” Steve breathed. “You look great!” Steve’s eyes lingered on Bucky’s upper arms.

“So do you,” Bucky said fondly. Steve looked like a dream straight out of the 1940s.

They spent the day on the couch browsing the internet. Steve found some well-documented historical websites. The next couple of weeks were spent looking at the highlights in American and world history, and looking at pictures of cats.

S.H.I.E.L.D. sent agents over once a week to check on them and make sure they had groceries. The agents would help them with whatever technology they had either not tried or not noticed yet.

Steve was alternately okay and not okay.

He still had nightmares. Still woke up sweating and calling for Bucky. But then, Bucky kept waking up sweating and calling for Steve. They held each other every night, even if Bucky kept his distance and Steve always woke up spooning Bucky.

Some days, he seemed to take everything in stride. He quickly got used to any new technology that he was introduced to. He absorbed information like a sponge. He and Bucky greatly enjoyed trying all the new foods they bought from the grocery store. They felt betrayed, shocked, and somewhat angry when they unsuspectingly ate bananas, though. “These are not real bananas!” Steve practically yelled.

“No they’re not!” Bucky agreed.

They angrily called up the number S.H.I.E.L.D. had left them in case of emergencies. An agent calmly answered. Her ear was loudly assaulted by two angry men yelling about bananas. She could only hear one of them, but that didn’t stop Bucky from shouting anyway.

The agent calmly explained that bananas had always tasted that way.

Bucky and Steve vehemently disagreed.

They learned later, via several internet searches, that the breed of bananas they were used to was nearly extinct, and the bananas they were eating were a different breed. The rest of the bananas sat there until a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents came by the next week to take them grocery shopping. The agents quietly took the offending bananas with them.

That night, the agents set Steve up with Netflix.

* * *

Several months had passed. Steve had more or less learned his way around the internet and could find things rather easily when he needed them. He and Bucky were more or less caught up on world history and current events. They had watched several iconic films, including Star Wars, Harry Potter, and all of the animated Disney films. Steve was in complete awe of Studio Ghibli. He also really loved Singin’ in the Rain. Bucky enjoyed all of them, but not as much as he enjoyed watching Steve’s reactions to them.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had set Steve up with a credit card and a bank account. Unbeknownst to Steve, he’d collected all kinds of royalties on the comic books based off of Captain America and his sidekick “Lucky” Barnes. Steve and Bucky would have both protested that “Lucky” was much more than a sidekick, but legends will be legends.

They had discovered YouTube recently and spent hours watching cat videos. They searched random things on the video-posting site and Steve was overjoyed to discover a wide variety of Jo Stafford songs. Bucky loved the look on Steve’s face while he was listening to her. He offered to dance with Steve while listening to one of said videos. Steve asked if Bucky was sure, said he had two left feet. Bucky asked how he knew if he’d never danced. All Steve said was, “Exactly.” Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled him to his feet. They were listening to a playlist of Jo Stafford videos.

Bucky led Steve in a very simple dance, mostly stepping forwards and back, not even standing that close. Steve learned the dance fairly quickly. “See? Nothing to worry about,” Bucky reassured him, dancing with ease.

“Teach me another one,” Steve demanded, not wanting to stop.

Bucky smiled lopsidedly. “All right.” He positioned Steve’s hands and led him in another dance, this one also simple, mostly shifting side to side.

“Another,” Steve requested as the next song started playing.

Bucky pulled him closer and showed him a slow-dance. “For when you meet that special someone,” he explained with a strained smile. Steve watched him steadily as they danced. Their faces were close; Steve’s eyes were half-open. Bucky could smell Steve’s aftershave. He was glad their chests weren’t touching. Bucky was having a hard enough time breathing normally. He struggled not to stare at Steve’s very inviting-looking lips and instead dragged his gaze upward and got lost in Steve’s serious blue eyes.

Steve stared steadily into Bucky’s gray-blue eyes, no longer focused on the dance. Bucky’s hands warmed through the material of Steve’s shirt. Bucky’s well-shaped mouth hung partially open, his lips dark pink and soft-looking. Steve already knew how soft those lips were. If only Bucky knew…

Steve’s bewitching blue eyes were closer now, no longer staring into his. If he was right, Steve was staring at his— _oh._ Bucky clamped his mouth shut and pushed away. “That’s,” he began before turning stiffly away. “That’s enough dancing for now. You hungry? I’m gonna go make some food.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned.

But Bucky was already halfway to the kitchen.

Steve sighed and followed after him. “We just ate.”

“Well yeah but you have super-metabolism right? You’re bound to get hungry again eventually. May as well make something right?” Bucky was talking fast; he could feel his skin prickling under the warmth of his blush.

“Bucky—”

“Right!” Bucky agreed with himself and started banging pots around. Jo Stafford played quietly in the background, the playlist still going in the other room.

“Bucky,” Steve began again, but right then, his phone rang. The only place that ever called him was S.H.I.E.L.D. Steve answered it. He frowned. Walked out of the room.

Bucky sagged against the counter. He really needed to get Steve out dating. They’d been cooped up for too long. That’s what it was. You spend too much time with one other person, things start to get a little fuzzy, right? Weird. That’s what was happening.

Steve walked back in, pocketing his phone, frowning deeply.

“Shield?”

Steve met his eyes. “They want to do some more testing.”

Bucky was offended on his behalf. “They _still_ think you’re crazy?”

“No. On you.”

“What?”

“They want to do testing on _you._ ”


	7. Is This A Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you hear a sound,  
> That you just can't place  
> Feel somethin' move  
> That you just can't trace,  
> When something sits  
> On the end of your bed  
> Don't turn around  
> When you hear me tread.
> 
> I'm the invisible man,  
> I'm the invisible man  
> Incredible how you can  
> See right through me  
> I'm the invisible man  
> I'm the invisible man  
> It's criminal how I can  
> See right through you.
> 
> Now I'm in your room  
> And I'm in your bed  
> And I'm in your life  
> And I'm in your head  
> Like the CIA  
> Or the FBI  
> You'll never get close  
> Never take me alive
> 
> \--"The Invisible Man" -Queen

* * *

Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents showed up early the next morning to retrieve Steve and Bucky and escort them to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Bucky was taken away from Steve, stripped of his clothing, and locked in a glass room. And that was just the beginning. He was zapped, compressed, blasted with air. The temperature was raised and lowered suddenly. Various liquids were dumped over his head. Pictures were taken. He was stung by wasps, told to drink wine and whiskey and colored water. Told to pee into a cup.

Steve witnessed none of this because he wasn’t permitted anywhere near the testing cage. Instead, Fury briefed him on a mission. “Now that you’re more comfortable with the technology of the time, Cap, I’m afraid we need to ask your help.” He showed Steve the file with the information on Loki and the Tesseract. Explained briefly what the mission would entail. Warned him that there were lots of surprises awaiting him, things he might struggle to believe. Steve stated wryly that he could handle it. Fury briefed him on his teammates, showed him summaries of their files. He gave Steve a copy to keep “for now.”

Fury was notified by a buzz under the table that the testing was over. He led Steve to where Bucky was waiting, fully dressed, his hair sticking out every which way, looking tired and smelling very strange. “They still can’t see me,” Bucky said by greeting, “but at least they think I’m real.”

Steve hugged him. “You smell bizarre.”

Bucky hugged back, sagging against him. “Probably the gum. Or maybe the whiskey? Hell if I know.”

“Gum? Whiskey?” Steve backed away to look at him. “What did they _do_ to you?”

Fury clapped Steve roughly on the shoulder. “None of your concern, Cap. We’ll have the test results soon. We’ll have someone to get you tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Bucky echoed groggily.

“Yeah.” Steve frowned at Fury. “Mission.”

Bucky nodded and sagged against Steve.

“He comes with me.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

Fury glanced between them. “Whatever you say, Cap.”

Steve had to carry Bucky to the car.

Bucky slept in the car. Steve had to carry him up to the apartment. Bucky didn’t wake up until the next morning. Steve had bathed him and changed his outfit. Bucky silently thanked Steve, who was still fast asleep, arms around him. The loud ringing of Steve’s phone shattered the moment. Steve’s eyes shot open. He picked up his phone and groaned “Hello?”

Then got out of bed, ran a hand over his face, stumbled over to his dresser, put on some deodorant, nodded a few times, and hung up.

“Shield?”

“Yeah. They’re here.”

Bucky sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How long we gonna be gone?” He yawned.

“Don’t know. A few days?”

Bucky nodded and got out of bed. “We packed?”

“Yup.”

“Breakfast?”

“Provided.”

The doorbell rang.

Steve grabbed a suitcase and answered the door. Bucky pulled on a pair of shoes and stumbled after him.

* * *

They were introduced to a man in a gray suit, with a high forehead and an aquiline nose, who seemed entirely too excited to be in the same room as Steve. Bucky and Steve munched on their fast food hashbrown patties and breakfast sandwiches. The man introduced himself as Phil Coulson, “But you can call me Phil,” he added, eyes twinkling. Bucky snickered. Steve elbowed him. Coulson seemed restless. He told Steve he was a big fan, confessed he collected Captain America comic books. Said he really looked up to him as a kid. Steve smiled politely, mouth full. Coulson kept prattling on about his favorite issues, then remembered that Steve probably hadn’t read them and apologized profusely. Bucky was chuckling. Steve elbowed him again. Coulson mentioned he also had Captain America trading cards.

“You have _trading cards?_ ” Bucky asked, barely holding back laughter. Steve elbowed him again.

Coulson waited for Steve to swallow his sip of orange juice, then mentioned that he was ecstatic to meet him. “I mean, in person. I mean, I’ve seen you. I watched you while you were sleeping.”

Bucky laughed hard, spitting out his orange juice all over Coulson’s suit and falling over sideways on the bench, clutching his stomach. He pounded the bench with his fist, tears streaming down his cheeks, guffawing uproariously.

Steve looked partially uncomfortable, partially embarrassed, and partially flattered.

Coulson wiped the orange juice off his suit with a napkin. “Is he laughing at me?”

“Yes.”

Coulson nodded. “Thought so.”

Steve had to speak loudly to hear himself over Bucky’s laughter. “You know he’s real, then?”

Coulson looked mildly offended by the notion. He spoke to match Steve’s volume. “Of course. I don’t know why they didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Bucky’s laughter quieted down some.

“When they found you in the ice,” Coulson explained, “You were frozen in an ice block, but there was an indentation next to you in the shape and size of a human body, almost as though someone had been sleeping next to you. And when you were sleeping in the recovery room, an indentation appeared next to you in that exact same shape and pose. When we switched on the infrared, we could see two bodies, even though with the visual light spectrum, we could only see one—someone was sleeping next to you, giving off body heat. I never believed you were crazy. Some of the agents we sent to help you acclimate to this century were uncertain, but they all came back convinced that someone was there. And you’ve always called him Bucky, so most of us tended to agree that somehow, Bucky was there. We weren’t sure if he was a ghost, or if he’d somehow mutated and gained superpowers, and we weren’t sure why you could see him even though we can’t. We’re still not sure. But we know there’s someone there.”

Bucky had sobered. His eyes bounced between Steve and Coulson. “So what was with the testing then?”

“You can’t hear him, can you?”

Coulson shook his head.

Steve repeated Bucky’s question.

Coulson’s lips narrowed. “I never believed you were crazy, but Fury did.”

“The guy with the eyepatch?”

Coulson nodded.

Steve sighed.

“But now we know you’re not,” Coulson amended. “We don’t know _what_ Bucky is, but we know he’s there. We don’t know how. We aren’t even sure he’s human. But our testing was able to determine that Bucky is there.”

Steve gave Bucky a long, serious look. Bucky scanned his face. Steve leaned close and cupped his hand around Bucky’s ear to hide the sound. He whispered as quietly as he could, “Am I allowed to tell them?”

Bucky frowned. “I have no idea.”

Steve nodded. “Better not then.” He seemed slightly uncomfortable with this.

“Better not what?” Coulson asked innocently, kind gray eyes prying.

Steve smiled blankly. “Nothing.”

Coulson scrutinized Steve’s face. “Do _you_ know what he is?” he asked with the thinnest veneer of casualness.

“He’s my friend.”

Coulson’s eyes pried deeper, but Steve had shuttered his expression and was smiling politely. Coulson had to take that as an answer.

* * *

Once they landed, Steve and Bucky were informed that hotel arrangements had already been made. Their suitcase was loaded into the back of a car. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent drove them to the hotel and checked them in. The agent was sleeping in a different room.

Steve and Bucky entered their room. Steve had never been in a hotel room before; Bucky had. The hotel room was fairly typical; bathroom, thick curtains, patterned carpet. Comfortable-looking chair by the window. A lamp on each bedstand. A television sitting on the short dresser at the foot of the bed. Steve stepped into the room and set the suitcase on the floor. “Nice place.”

Bucky was frozen by the door. “They didn’t say there was only going to be _one bed._ ”

Steve frowned at him. “So? We sleep in one bed all the time at home.”

“Yeah but this is a _hotel_.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “And?”

Bucky couldn’t believe Steve didn’t see the implications. “ _So,_ we’re _two guys_ in the _same hotel room_.”

Steve nodded slowly, still not getting it. “Yeah…?”

Bucky spread his hands wide and gestured wildly. “Do you have _any idea_ what most people would think?!”

Steve’s frown eased somewhat. “Bucky…”

“Don’t ‘Bucky’ me! We are two men in the same hotel room, with _one bed_ , and don’t pretend you didn’t hear the rumors about us in the army, because _I heard them!”_

Steve folded his arms. “You’ve been like this ever since I got beat up—”

“Like _what.”_

“Scared!” Steve accused, taking a step closer, unfolding his arms to gesture, then re-folding them. “I don’t even know who you’re scared for anymore!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It _means,”_ Steve announced, stepping closer, “that I’m not sure if you’re afraid that people will perceive me as queer, or that people will perceive _you_ as queer, but I’m here to tell you that I don’t care what people think either way!” He was standing in front of Bucky now. “Who _cares_ if people think we’re queer? Who cares if we _are?”_

“I never said I was queer!” Bucky objected, eyes wide, backed up against the door.

“Neither did I,” Steve argued, “but I wouldn’t care if you were!”

Bucky immediately latched onto the slight uncertainty in that statement. “Yes you would. _Everyone_ would! Can’t you see? It’s no laughing matter! People get _killed_ for this!”

“Maybe things have changed!”

“And maybe they _haven’t!!”_ Bucky shouted, eyes shining with unshed tears. Steve reached up to wipe at Bucky’s eyes with his thumb, but Bucky swatted his hand away. _“Don’t touch me!!”_

“Why not?” Steve caged Bucky with his arms. “I touch you all the time.”

“Don’t _say_ things like that!!”

Steve leaned closer. “Why not? It’s true.”

“Because it sounds queer! Okay? You say things like that, and you sound queer!”

“Bucky. Who cares?”

“EVERYONE!”

“ _I_ don’t care.”

“WELL I DO!”

Steve recoiled as though he’d been slapped. He had this look on his face like things were clicking into place. “You… you care.”

“What the fuck is that look for!” Bucky accused warily.

Steve met his eyes. “Bucky,” he started in his you’re-not-gonna-like-this voice.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me.”

Steve’s eyes flicked down, then met Bucky’s again. “I’m queer.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. He sank against the door.

Steve played with his hands, a nervous gesture. “Never really thought it was a big deal…”

Bucky couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Steve was watching him closely, looking slightly guilty. “I figured, God made everyone, and God makes no mistakes. So who am I to argue if God made men who love men, and women who love women?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Love is love. We grew up seeing it. I never thought it was fair that people felt they had to hide their love away. All you needed was to see one look at the other and you could see they were in love.” He pinned Bucky with a haunted look. “Why would anyone hate love?”

Bucky held onto the door for support. “I don’t hate you…”

“No, but you hate that I’m queer,” Steve guessed.

“I don’t…” Bucky looked away.

“Then what, Bucky?” Steve stepped closer again. “You keep telling me not to ‘sound queer’ or not to do things because they ‘look queer.’ Well, I _am_ queer.”

“But, Peggy…” Bucky objected weakly.

Steve sighed in exasperation. “Yes, I liked Peggy. I’m attracted to women, too. But I’ve always been attracted to men _and_ women.”

“So, you’re…” Bucky eyed him searchingly.

Steve stared steadily into Bucky’s eyes. “I’m queer.” His voice softened. “And it’s never bothered me.”

There was a knock at the door.

Bucky froze.

“Yeah?” Steve called.

“Meeting in ten. Bring your friend,” announced an agent on the other side of the door.

“Be right out,” Steve answered. He searched Bucky’s eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, voice low.

Bucky shook his head slowly.

Steve was visibly relieved. “But you care.”

Bucky’s eyes were searching his face. He nodded.

“Why?”

Bucky met his eyes. His gaze flickered. He looked down. He couldn’t say it.

The agent knocked on the door again.

“Be right out!” Steve called.

“Now, Captain.”

Steve sighed. He pushed away from the door. “We continue this conversation later.”

* * *

The meeting was with Nick Fury. He had the test results. “At this point,” Fury was saying, “We can neither confirm nor deny the fact that the invisible man is Bucky. _However_. We _can_ confirm that there is someone there. Whoever he is, he seems to have the power to phase through matter, and it looks like he has the ability to manipulate inanimate objects. But you probably already know about that, don’t you Cap.”

Steve’s lips were pursed. “Maybe.”

Fury angled his face so he was glaring at Steve under his eyebrow with his good eye. “Maybe you wanna elaborate on that.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. “Yes he can.”

“He can _what._ ”

Steve narrowed his lips. “He can phase through matter, and he can manipulate inanimate objects.”

“Is there more?”

Steve glanced at Bucky. “He can fly.”

Fury sat back, fingers steepled. “He can fly.”

“He can fly,” Steve confirmed.

Fury raised his eyebrows. “Anything else?”

Steve glanced at Bucky again. “And levitate.”

Fury crossed his arms. “How very interesting. And do you know _why_ he has any of these abilities?”

“No idea.”

“You mean to tell me that your best friend, who has not left your side for, from what we can gather, is at least eighty years, has not told you how he came about his superpowers.”

“Nope.”

“He’s _never_ talked to you about this.”

Steve watched Fury steadily. “Nope.”

“Not even the odd hint here and there?”

Steve leaned forward, air slightly threatening. “Nope.”

Fury glanced at the empty spot next to Steve where he couldn’t see that Bucky was sitting. “We are very interested to hear why it is you can see and communicate with him when we cannot.”

Steve shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya.”

“Are you being _completely honest_ with me, Cap? Because if you’re not, we have ways of finding things out.”

Steve crossed his arms and glared coldly at Fury. “Are you _threatening_ me?”

Fury pressed a button under the table for backup, just in case. “What I’m saying, is we are prepared to do more testing on your friend. If you would be so kind as to share any information you might have, we might be able to skip some of those tests. But if not, we can do things the hard way.” Backup arrived. “Was just trying not to make things difficult for you, Cap.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Bucky looked around uneasily at the men dressed completely in black with red goggles. Steve glanced where Bucky was looking, also frowning. He returned his attention to Fury, gaze questioning.

“Heat vision goggles,” Fury explained. “Your friend here gives off a heat signature. They can see him just as plainly as I can see you.”

Steve sat closer to Bucky. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know exactly how Bucky got his powers.”

“But you know _something_ ,” Fury guessed.

Steve’s posture was protective. “I know I don’t trust you.”

Fury nodded. “Don’t,” he said seriously. The men in black with the red goggles closed in on them. One of them stabbed Steve in the neck with a needle. Everything started to feel fuzzy. He felt his muscles relaxing. He called out weakly for Bucky. Bucky struggled against his captors, but they were overpowering him. Steve blacked out.

* * *

Steve woke up in a dark room strapped down to a bed with huge metal clamps. He strained against them, clenching his teeth. He scanned the room frantically. All he saw were some dark cabinets and some medical supplies. He appeared to be on an operating table. He strained harder against his constraints. His heart hammered wildly against his chest. His mind was already working through what sort of scenarios he’d stumbled into. Was he going to be dissected? Tortured? Experimented on? No matter how hard he strained against the metal bars, he could not escape.

A florescent light flickered on overhead. Steve glared, wide-eyed, at the man approaching him. He was wearing a white labcoat; his hair and face were covered with surgical protection. He was putting on some rubber gloves. He wore thick glasses. “Sorry about that,” the man said, slightly muffled by his surgical mask. “Just going to do some tests.”

Steve was breathing heavily. “What kind of tests?”

The man in the labcoat was rolling over a metal table full of various tools. “Oh, nothing unusual. Going to test your reflexes, measure your vitals.” He grabbed a cuff and tightened it around Steve’s upper arm.

“What’s that?”

The man blinked at him, eyes magnified by his thick glasses. “Blood pressure cuff. Please, try to relax.”

“I’d be a lot more _relaxed_ if you told me who you are and why I’m here.”

The man tsk’d. “I’m Doctor Gabriel. You’re here for your physical. Now, if you please. Do try to relax.”

“Where’s Bucky?”

The doctor sighed. “He is also being tested.”

“What kind of tests?”

The doctor started working an air pump in his hand. The cuff tightened around Steve’s arm. “They didn’t tell me.”

Steve wanted to rip the cuff off his arm. _“Where is he.”_

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the doctor stated calmly. He wrote something down on a notepad with a small yellow pencil.

“Who _does_ know?”

The doctor removed the cuff and picked up a small hammer. He rolled his chair further away from Steve’s face and banged on his knees. His shins strained against the metal, trying to kick. It felt very strange. The doctor made a note of it and picked up the next tool.

“Why won’t you tell me!”

The doctor sighed and gave him a pleading look. “This does not have to be difficult. Please. Try to calm down.”

_“Where’s Bucky?!”_

The doctor shook his head slowly and picked up a needle. “I was hoping it would not come to this…”

“Come to what? _Where’s Bucky?!”_

The doctor stabbed Steve’s neck with the needle. Everything went fuzzy again, then faded into black.

* * *

Bucky had been poked and prodded, submerged, injected with various things, been forced to inhale what he’s pretty sure was toxic gas, been set on fire, covered in glitter, and now he was sitting in a room across the table from a very attractive woman who he wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw her.

“So you’re the infamous “Lucky” Barnes,” she stated, pale hands folded in front of her on the table, scrutinizing him with her dark brown eyes. She had a slight accent which Bucky couldn’t place.

“I don’t see much of a point in this interview if you can’t hear me.”

The woman continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “Don’t worry about responding, I can’t hear you.” She slid a pad of paper across the table towards him. There was a pen chained to the clipboard it sat on. “I’m guessing you’re literate,” she stated drily.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m literate.” He picked up the pen and drew a face with its tongue sticking out. He showed it to the woman.

She smirked. “Cute.” She stood and paced around, hands behind her back. “Yes or no, your name is James Barnes?”

He wrote ‘no.’

She raised an eyebrow. “Then what is your name?”

‘Bucky.’

She smirked at him, looking right through him. “Bucky Barnes?”

‘Yes.’

“You don’t go by James,” she observed. He wrote ‘no’ but she already knew that. “So how did you die?”

He stared at her.

“I’m just guessing you’re a ghost. Since you’re invisible and all.”

Bucky pointed to a ‘no.’

“You’re _not_ a ghost.” He pointed to the ‘no’ again. “But you are dead?”

He wanted to point to the ‘no’ again, but he hesitated. He considered pointing to the ‘yes.’ He wrote ‘it’s complicated.’

“Are you dead, or are you not dead?”

‘It’s complicated.’

“Are you dying?”

‘No.’

“Have you died?”

Hesitation. Then, ‘yes.’

“Did you die and then come back?”

‘Yes.’

“How?”

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then wrote ‘none of your business.’

She smirked. “I’ve always wondered what the afterlife is like. Don’t you? I mean, is there one?” she said conversationally. “Do we even have souls? Did you ever believe in any of that?”

Bucky watched her warily. ‘It’s complicated.’

“Steve’s Christian,” she observed. “Did you ever go to church with him?”

‘Yes.’

“Did you ever really believe what the priest was saying?”

‘It’s complicated.’

“Are you Christian?”

‘It’s complicated.’ ‘None of your business.’

She smirked. “Me neither. I never really believed in any of that. Maybe there’s something out there, I just don’t think any of the major religions have got it.” She leaned against a chair comfortably, one leg folded, the other outspread, hands folded comfortably around her bent knee. “So you died? What was that like?”

She seemed so sincere, he wanted to describe it for her. ‘Terrifying. It was dark. There was a voice…’

She frowned. “A voice? What did it say?”

‘A lot. He seemed to know me.’

“Know you?”

‘Yes.’ ‘He knew my name.’

“So do I.”

‘Yeah but he knew what I wanted.’

“And what _do_ you want?” she inquired conversationally.

Bucky decided to tell her the honest answer. ‘To protect Steve.’

“Captain Rogers?” she asked with a quirk to her thick lips.

‘Yes.’

“Then what did he say?” She sounded, and looked, fascinated.

‘He said I could.’

“But how?” Her beautifully plucked brows drew together in confusion. “You were dead.”

‘He sent me back.’

“How?”

‘As a guardian angel.’

The woman seemed taken aback by this answer. She looked him up and down as though she could see him. “A guardian angel?” she whispered.

Bucky felt as though he was betraying someone, as though he would be struck by lightning at any given moment. ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m Steve’s guardian angel.’ His hand was shaking as he wrote.

The woman’s dark expressive eyes noted this. “You really believe that,” she stated.

‘Yes.’

“So that’s what you are? You’re his guardian angel?”

‘Yes.’

She pressed a button. “Either he’s delusional or he’s telling the truth,” she stated loudly and clearly. “I’m not sure which.” She released the button and nodded her head to him politely. “Thank you for your cooperation.” With that, she left.

Bucky was left alone in the room for a few minutes before two men dressed all in black with those spooky red goggles came in and escorted him out, each tightly gripping one of his arms and holding them in a locked position so he couldn’t get away. They escorted him to a car. One of them opened the door. Steve was slumped in the back seat, unconscious. They shoved Bucky in after him. “Hotel,” one of them announced, slightly muffled by his mask. The driver waved in acknowledgement. They closed the door and walked away.


	8. Confessions Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't call my name  
> Don't brush my cheek like that  
> I curse the day that I found you  
> Don't touch my skin  
> Don't dance around like that  
> I feel damnation all around you  
> And so I raise my voice to Heaven  
> Please hide me in some holy place  
> Protect my soul, I'm only human
> 
> Mercy please, I'm on my knees  
> You're my temptation  
> Look down and see  
> Deliver me from my dark sensation  
> Give me faith, don't let me waste  
> You're my temptation
> 
> \-- "You're My Temptation" -Alice Cooper
> 
>  
> 
> Listen  
> Do you want to know a secret  
> Do you promise not to tell, whoa oh, oh
> 
> Closer  
> Let me whisper in your ear  
> Say the words you long to hear  
> I'm in love with you
> 
> \-- "Do You Want To Know A Secret" -The Beatles

* * *

Steve was unconscious most of the way back to the hotel. Bucky wanted to ask what had happened, but he knew it would be useless since no one could hear him. A couple of minutes from the hotel, Steve groaned. “Is he waking up?” the cab driver asked, not expecting an answer. Steve groaned again. The cab driver handed back a packet of pills. “He’ll be wanting these.”

Bucky took the pills and pocketed them.

He had to support the half-conscious, and very heavy, Steve as he helped him get out of the car. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was waiting with a wheelchair. Bucky glared suspiciously at him. The agent helped Steve into the wheelchair and followed Bucky to their room. Steve kept groaning, his eyes rolling and fluttering. They reached the door to their room. Bucky held Steve’s hands and asked if he could stand. Steve moaned. Bucky pulled him to his feet and into the room. Steve stumbled after him. They made it to the bed. Bucky let Steve down on it. The agent closed the door behind them.

Bucky fetched a cup of water from the bathroom. The pills were marked ‘Tylenol.’ He knew what those were.

Steve sat up suddenly, as though ready to punch somebody. “Where’s Bucky?!” he slurred.

“Shhh, I’m right here,” Bucky said, sitting next to him with the pills and the cup of water.

Steve’s gaze snapped over to Bucky. At first he seemed not to recognize him, his eyes slightly glazed and far away. Then they focused. “Bucky?”

Bucky smiled sympathetically. “Yeah Steve. It’s me.”

“Bucky!” Steve breathed out, relieved.

Bucky held out the pills and the water. “Here. Take this.”

Steve took them without question. He handed the cup back to Bucky. Bucky set it on the bedside table. Steve groaned suddenly and brought his hands up to grab the sides of his head. “Where were you?”

“Don’t know. Somewhere in the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.”

“What did they do to you?”

Bucky shrugged. “More ridiculous tests. Are you okay?”

“My head is killing me…”

“What did they do to you?” Bucky moved closer protectively.

“Tranquilized…”

“What!”

Steve groaned.

“Sorry,” Bucky said more quietly. “Why would they tranquilize Captain America?”

Steve laughed bitterly. “Wouldn’t cooperate.”

Bucky snickered. “That’s my Steve.”

Steve smirked.

“Why wouldn’t you cooperate?” Bucky asked, sobering. “What did they do to you?”

Steve shrugged. “Some testing.”

“Testing?” Bucky echoed, beginning to be outraged on Steve’s behalf. If Steve had to go through half the bullshit testing he did—!

“Tested my reflexes… blood pressure… that sort of thing.” Steve rubbed his forehead.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“Not unless you count this,” Steve said in reference to the headache.

“Do you want to lie down?” Bucky offered.

Steve nodded. Bucky gently lowered Steve to the bed and asked if he needed anything. “Just stay,” Steve pleaded. Bucky sat next to him. Steve curled around Bucky and waited for his headache to subside. Bucky stroked Steve’s hair soothingly until the pain went away.

* * *

Once Steve’s head stopped throbbing, the first thing he asked for was food. Bucky ordered room service. They ate and left their plates on the mini-table outside the door, as instructed.

Sated, they sat on the bed, propped up by the many pillows. Why a one-person bed needed four pillows was beyond either of them, especially since _one_ of these pillows was too much. They were too thick, too fluffy. They were testing the fluffiness of these pillows and remarking on the absurdity when Steve playfully whacked Bucky on the arm with the pillow he was holding. Bucky glared playfully at him. “Oh you did _not_ just start that.”

Steve grinned and whacked him harder. Bucky launched himself at him with a pillow, aimed at his face. Steve laughed and fought him off with his own pillow. They hit each other repeatedly with their pillows, laughing, feathers flying everywhere, until they wound up collapsed on the bed laughing, Bucky on his back holding his pillow high above his head, arms relaxed, Steve face-down in Bucky’s chest, his own pillow up somewhere near Bucky’s elbow.

As their laughter calmed, Steve propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his chin up to look at Bucky. Bucky smiled down at him.

“About that conversation we were having earlier…” Steve began.

Bucky pretended not to remember. “Which conversation?”

Steve’s face turned serious. “About being queer.”

Bucky swallowed. “Oh.”

Steve edged up a little higher on Bucky’s body. “You never really answered my question.”

Bucky searched Steve’s face nervously. “What question?”

Steve’s chin was close enough to touch Bucky’s. “I’m queer.” Bucky flinched. “And you said you care.”

Bucky’s heart was racing. “I do.”

Steve leaned a little closer. “Why?”

Bucky shrugged. “I just do.”

Steve scanned his face earnestly. “Are you worried I’m gonna get beat up?”

Bucky’s eyes darted away. “No,” he admitted.

“That people will see me differently?”

“No.”

“That people will see _you_ differently?”

Bucky hesitated. “It’s—” He sighed, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what, Bucky? Why do you care if I’m queer? Why does looking queer make you so uncomfortable?”

“Because I’m not, okay? I’m not queer! I like women. _So_ many women. I’ve danced with so many women. Women are so beautiful. I just. Really like women.” The words sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Steve brought his face closer to Bucky’s, sliding up along Bucky’s torso. Bucky hissed, muscles tensing. Steve felt a dull throb against his lower stomach. “So do I, Buck.”

Bucky’s head was turned to the side, his cheeks red. “Would you stop _lookin’_ at me like that?” he begged, not looking at him.

“Looking at you like _what_ , Buck? Like I care about what you think of me?”

Bucky closed his eyes tightly. “It’s not like that, okay? I’m the freak.”

“Bucky, you’re not a freak.”

“Yes I am!!” His chest heaved with forceful breaths. “I—I’m not like you. I only danced with dames ‘cause I was s’posed to. Sure, they were pretty, but I never felt the same way about them as I do about y—” Bucky cut himself off, eyes darting away, face red.

“About who, Buck?” Steve asked gently.

“Nothing! No one!”

Steve edged up higher, torsos flush together. “Bucky…”

“What!” His eyes snapped to meet Steve’s, full of fear and panic and self-loathing.

Steve decided to take the plunge. “I’ve found a lot of people attractive… but there’s only one person I’ve ever been in love with.”

Hurt was added to the mix of emotions in Bucky’s eyes. “Who?” he croaked.

Steve brought his face closer, so their lips were only an inch apart. He gazed earnestly into Bucky’s eyes. He took a deep breath, heart pounding, and let it out. “You.”

Bucky stopped breathing. His heart was racing against Steve’s chest. Steve reached up and gently stroked Bucky’s cheek. Bucky could feel Steve’s heart pounding. He could feel Steve’s pulse further down, filling out a warm oblong shape on his groin. “Wh-what?”

Steve brought his lips closer, nearly touching Bucky’s. “You. I love you.” He traced Bucky’s lips gently with his own. “I tried to tell you when we crashed…”

“You’re in love with me,” Bucky whispered.

“Always have been,” Steve whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky’s chest heaved with each too-quick breath. His eyes widened. Steve gently pressed closer. Bucky’s eyes filled with tears. Steve eased slowly away from Bucky’s mouth and met his eyes. Bucky blinked the tears out of his eyes. “Steve—!”

Steve caressed his face. “Bucky,” Steve answered. He brought their mouths together again and kissed him earnestly. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut. He pulled Steve’s torso closer with his arms and kissed him back earnestly, tears streaking down his cheeks, breathing too deeply and too quickly, getting dizzy. Steve’s breathing sped to match Bucky’s. He pressed closer, fully hardened. Bucky gasped. Steve took advantage of Bucky’s open mouth and plunged his tongue in. Bucky immediately latched onto his tongue and started licking and sucking on it, bucking his hips, breaths ragged. Steve moaned and started rolling his hips, kissing as much as he could while Bucky imprisoned his tongue. Bucky whimpered and started grinding desperately, pressing Steve as close as possible. Steve was warm all over and slightly dizzy. His breathing was deeper and heavier, but not nearly as ragged and erratic as Bucky’s. Bucky bit down on Steve’s bottom lip and ground his hips rhythmically against Steve’s a few more times before abruptly releasing Steve’s lip and crying out. Spurts of hot liquid pushed through the fabric between them.

Bucky sagged against the bed, grip easing on Steve.

Steve nuzzled Bucky’s neck. “It’s okay.”

Bucky was catching his breath. “It’s okay…” he repeated uncertainly.

Steve kissed his cheek. “It’s okay,” he reassured him, nuzzling Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes searchingly.

Steve smiled crookedly. “Never felt the same way about a dame as you felt about me, huh?”

“Don’t push it, punk,” Bucky grumbled, not feeling nearly as gruff as he tried to sound.

* * *

Half an hour later, Steve and Bucky were naked. This had taken a lot of coaxing and patience on Steve’s part, despite having seen each other naked dozens of times. Angel semen really wasn’t that different from human semen; it still coagulated as it cooled, it still tasted salty and bitter. Bucky had insisted on cleaning himself up alone in the bathroom, but he’d had to remove the offending clothes. Steve had brought him a change of clothes, but Bucky hadn’t worn them for long. Steve had waited for Bucky to return to the bed. Bucky had sat on the edge nervously, shoulders hunched, muscles tense. Steve had hugged him from behind and held him until he relaxed. “Are you sure it’s okay?” Bucky had wondered, afraid.

“Of course it’s okay,” Steve had murmured against his neck, then nuzzled the junction between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. He’d run his hands up Bucky’s shirt, wrinkling the material. Bucky had sat up straighter, sucking in his breath, and looked with wild eyes at Steve. After many nuzzles and reassurances on Steve’s part, Steve had managed to remove Bucky’s shirt, running his hands up Bucky’s chiseled torso as he did so. Bucky’s breath had caught; he’d leaned against Steve. Steve had turned Bucky’s face to kiss him. Just as Bucky had started losing himself in the kiss, Steve had hesitantly pulled away to remove his own shirt, then kissed him again. But Bucky’s eyes had been open. Steve had slowed, noticing Bucky’s hesitation, and gazed at him questioningly. Mouth parted, Bucky had gazed at Steve’s torso. Steve had smiled and returned the gaze in kind.

Then came the pants. Steve had pushed Bucky onto the bed, gently, kissing him the whole way until Bucky was lying on his back. His hands had worked gently at the opening, unfastening them as though he’d done it a thousand times. It had taken some coaxing and a lot of kissing, but Steve had slid Bucky’s pants down his well-shaped thighs, down his hairy legs; he loved each and every hair. Steve had removed his own pants more quickly, kissing Bucky as often as he could. They’d kissed in their underwear for a while, Steve’s weight resting comfortably on top of Bucky as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Steve kissed his way down Bucky’s torso, loving every inch of him, nuzzling his chest hair, licking down his abs, until he came to the waistband of Bucky’s underwear. He’d hooked his thumbs around the elastic, eyes locked with Bucky’s, making sure it was okay. Bucky had looked a little scared. Steve had kissed Bucky’s hipbones, his lower abs, kissed him through his underwear, never touching his rather obvious tent. Bucky had whispered Steve’s name, half-amazed, half-pleading, only a little scared. Steve had taken this as a signal and slid off Bucky’s underwear slowly, gazing at the newly revealed skin. Bucky’s face had turned red. Steve’s artistic eyes took in every detail. Bucky was amazed to see the warmth, even the hunger, in Steve’s eyes as he gazed at him.

Steve locked eyes with Bucky once more and hooked his thumbs around the waistband to his own underwear. Bucky watched, pinkened lips parted, puffy with kissing. Steve slowly slid his underwear down over his hips, past his thighs, erection springing free. Bucky’s eyes fastened hungrily to Steve’s arousal. Steve grew harder at the look in Bucky’s eyes. He stepped out of his underwear, eyes traveling over Bucky’s skin. Everything about him was beautiful.

Steve had very little body hair; his chest was completely hairless, as was most of his abdomen. What body hair he did have was so pale it was nearly invisible, except for patches of golden-brown under his armpits, dusting his lower legs, and leading in a swirling trail from his bellybutton to the base of his erection. Bucky was hairy all over, arms and legs dusted with wavy brown hair, chest handsomely covered with curly brown hairs, a narrow trail running down his abs to his longer, thicker erection. Steve’s skin was still visible through his pubic hair; Bucky’s was just barely visible. Steve had adorable little rosy nipples that Bucky wanted to lick every time he saw them; Bucky had larger nipples that were deeper pink, almost purple, like his mouth.

The two men spent a long time drinking each other in, finally able to allow their eyes to wander freely. “I have got to draw you sometime,” Steve stated, face hazy with arousal.

“Like me that much huh?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Bucky blushed. “Can it, punk.” His mouth was twisted up on one side.

Steve stepped closer. “But you are.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him. “Haven’t you already drawn me?”

“Only your face…”

Bucky smirked. “Face not good enough for ya?”

Steve leaned over him, lips curled. “Your face is beautiful and you know it. I want to draw the rest of you.”

Bucky leaned back, feeling cockier now. And looking it, too. “Don’t models usually get paid for that?”

Steve leaned closer. “I ain’t paying you.”

Bucky’s pupils dilated at the tone of Steve’s voice. He leaned back again. “Well I don’t work for free,” he teased, voice low.

Steve leaned until Bucky was laying against the bed. “What kind of payment are you looking for?” He licked his lips.

Bucky watched Steve’s tongue and licked his own lips. “Well you’re gonna owe me _somethin’._ ”

Steve lowered his torso on top of Bucky’s. “Yeah? What am I gonna owe you?” He brushed his lips against Bucky’s.

Bucky shivered, lips parted. His eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll think of something.”

“I’m sure you will,” Steve murmured, kissing him.

Bucky melted into the kiss. His arms were around Steve’s waist before he realized he’d moved them. Their erections bumped and slid against each other. Steve slowly lowered his hips, bit by bit, cautious not to rush Bucky or make him uncomfortable. Bucky whined and brought his hips up to meet Steve’s, sucking on Steve’s bottom lip, causing them both to gasp in pleasure. Bucky’s hips were wider than Steve’s, allowing Steve’s hipbones to slide seamlessly against Bucky’s without the painful bumping of bone against bone.

“How long have you wanted to do this?” Steve whispered against Bucky’s neck before nuzzling, licking, and kissing it.

Bucky inhaled shakily, head tilting back. “Ages,” he whispered back.

“How many ages? How old were you when you knew…?” Steve nipped a spot below Bucky’s ear.

Bucky shuddered. “Thirteen,” he whispered roughly.

Steve kissed that same spot. “Thirteen?” Steve opened his mouth, lips forming an o against Bucky’s neck, and sucked.

Bucky moaned open-mouthed. “Yeah,” he somehow got out, dizzy from the sensations.

Steve’s tongue swirled around. Their breathing picked up, Bucky’s ragged, Steve’s controlled out of habit. Steve kissed the purple oval he’d just created. “I was eleven.”

Bucky let out an incredulous laugh. “So, about the same time then.”

Steve kissed another spot on Bucky’s neck, closer to his shoulder. “Looks like.”

Bucky shook his head slightly, smiling ruefully.

“How long have you loved me?” Steve asked quietly, looking up at him, chin on his shoulder.

Bucky turned to look at Steve, rueful smile turned a touch ironic. “Since we met.”

Steve returned his smile, warmer and slightly apologetic. “If only we’d talked about it..”

Bucky’s smile dropped. He turned away. “We couldn’t have. You know that.”

Steve sighed. “Maybe we could have.” His fingers traced languid patterns on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s mouth narrowed grimly. “No, Steve. We couldn’t.”

Steve raised his head to look at him. “Why not?”

Bucky met his eyes miserably. “They would’ve killed us, Steve.”

“No they wouldn’t.”

Bucky groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, wiping down his face. “Why do you do that? Why do you always see the best in everybody? How are you so forgiving?”

Steve wore his serious face. “I don’t always see the best in everybody. I just see what’s there.”

Bucky shook his head, eyebrows crumpled, tears gathering. “You see? You’re so damned _good_ , you even see something worthwhile in a sinner like me.”

“Bucky, stop.” He cupped the side of Bucky’s face. “We’re all sinners, that’s just how God made us. But deep down, humans aren’t all bad. Most people just want to do what they think is right.”

Bucky’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head again, stubble scraping the palm of Steve’s hand. “You see?” he repeated, voice breaking.

“I see,” Steve confirmed, dead-serious, “that you are a beautiful, amazing man who was so worried about doing right by me that he put my own feelings first, no matter how hard that might have been.” He kissed Bucky gently and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Maybe if I’d told you sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much…”

“Steve—,”

Steve kissed him again, silencing whatever protest he had. He leaned their foreheads together. “But the past is the past, Buck. I love you; I always have. It’s not worth it, beating ourselves up over what could’ve been.”

Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I know…”

Steve kissed him again. “Then don’t.”

Bucky let Steve kiss him. Then looked away. He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m still scared, though.”

“Of what? What people will say?”

Bucky sighed. “I don’t know. People seem a little more relaxed about it now, but I don’t know.”

Steve kissed him, then looked at him earnestly. “I don’t care what people think. I love you. I don’t care if the whole world knows. _I love you_.”

“Steve…”

“Whatever storm we go through, I’ll take it. We’ll go through it together.” Steve reached down and interlaced their fingers. “You’re worth it, Bucky.”

Tears fell. “Steve—!” His voice broke.

Steve kissed him sweetly. Bucky pulled him close and kissed him back. The hands they were holding broke apart in favor of holding each other close, tugging their bodies flush against each other. Breaths grew shorter. Hips rolled, gently at first. Steve wiped away Bucky’s tears. Bucky whispered “I love you,” staring directly into Steve’s clear blue eyes. Steve smiled warmly and said “I love you too” before Bucky crashed their lips together and rolled them onto their sides, then rolled Steve onto his back, hips grinding restlessly, breathing heavily. Steve let Bucky take control; Bucky let himself lose control. He touched Steve everywhere he’d always wanted to touch, let his hands wander over that beautiful body, kissed and nipped and licked Steve’s beautiful chest. Bucky finally licked those small, rosy nipples- which turned out to be extremely sensitive; Steve gasped and bucked underneath him. Steve turned out to be extremely vocal; every noise he made rushed straight to Bucky’s groin. Bucky kissed a hot trail down Steve’s nearly hairless torso. Steve arched under him, making more delicious noises as Bucky sloppily kissed his abs. The noise Steve made when Bucky’s mouth closed around him was absolutely priceless. Bucky had never gone down on someone, nor had he ever had someone go down on him. A lot of it was guesswork. He figured most of it out by starting out slow, using lots of tongue, and listening to Steve’s reactions.

Only when Steve was panting heavily and gripping the bedsheets, knuckles white, did Bucky stop. Steve groaned and glanced down at him, eyes mostly closed, wondering why he’d stopped. Bucky bit his lips and looked a little lost.

“What is it?” Steve asked, voice breathy and low.

“I don’t know what to do now.”

Steve smiled and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Bucky glanced uncertainly down, then back up. Steve beckoned with his fingers. Bucky half-smiled and brought their faces level again. Wordlessly, Steve brought Bucky in for a kiss. His mouth was incredibly warm. Soon, Bucky was nearly breathless, Steve’s tongue lapping hungrily at the inside of his mouth, hips grinding together, pulses jumping. Steve kept making the most delicious moans. Bucky completely lost himself in Steve. Steve’s breath started hitching. He had to break away from Bucky’s mouth so he could breathe. Bucky watched Steve’s face, mouth hanging open, breaths hot on his face, as Steve’s breath hitched rhythmically, his eyebrows drew up over his perfect nose, slightly crooked from a fight, his cheeks turned pink, his eyes screwed shut, and he let out a desperate noise that sent Bucky right over the edge. Bucky’s orgasm overlapped Steve’s. He clung tightly to Steve’s shoulders, eyes never leaving Steve’s face.

Steve relaxed first. His head leaned back to rest on the overly plush mattress. Bucky finished soon after and leaned his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, fully aware that they would both be sticky and not caring at the moment. They held each other as they caught their breath.

Once their breathing had returned to normal, Bucky grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and wiped them down. Steve watched him, face and hair deliciously disheveled. Bucky wanted to see Steve like that every day. Steve had no idea how tempting he looked. Bucky discarded the tissues and came back to hold Steve.

While they were lying on the bed, limbs intertwined, Steve asked something he’d been wondering: “If you’re an angel, where are your wings?”

Bucky laughed quietly. “Don’t have any.”

“I thought all angels had wings?”

Bucky smiled wryly. “Maybe I’m not really an angel then.”

Steve frowned.

Bucky rolled his eyes and nuzzled his nose. “I don’t know, Stevie. The Big Guy told me I’m a guardian angel. He didn’t say anything about wings.”

Steve looked thoughtful. He was quiet for a while. Then he met Bucky’s eyes and said “What about your sword? Don’t guardian angels have swords?”

Bucky smirked. “Where’d you hear that?”

Steve frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I must’ve heard it somewhere…”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “Tell you what. When we get back home, we can look up guardian angels to your heart’s content.”

Steve considered this. “Isn’t most of it made up though?”

Bucky was surprised by this answer. “What?”

“About guardian angels. Isn’t most of it legends? Like the paintings of Jesus that are all white?”

Bucky blinked in surprise.

Steve went on, “Medieval painters painted Jesus white because they were European, and that’s what they thought was beautiful. They also painted angels with wings, and holy people with halos. But the halos were symbolic. So maybe the wings were, too… but I could have sworn angels had wings.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno.” He’d never really questioned the paintings- or paid much attention to them, for that matter- beyond taking in their beauty.

Steve was still deep in thought. “And the internet has a lot of sources that aren’t exactly reliable… so how are we going to find a source that’s accurate?” He considered this for a moment. Bucky had no answer. Steve gave him a curious look. “Can’t you just ask?”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

Steve shifted. “The Big Guy. Can’t you just ask?”

Bucky made a face. “He doesn’t really come when I call. He just kinda shows up whenever he wants to.” He half-expected some sort of heavenly lecture for this statement, but none was forthcoming.

“Hmm.” Steve was still deep in thought.

Bucky smirked fondly. “You’re gonna find out, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?”

Bucky kissed his cheek. “Nothing.”

“No, what did you say?”

Bucky shook his head fondly. “I said, you’re gonna find out aren’t you. About this angel thing.”

Steve stared into his eyes. “Everything I can,” he promised.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, eyes soft.

Steve’s expression softened; he smiled. “I love you too.”

They fell asleep with their bodies intertwined, and woke up even closer.

* * *

Sunlight filtered in through the crack in the curtains, casting a beam of light onto the thickly blanketed bed on which Steve and Bucky were fast asleep. Their arms were wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, torsos flush against each other. Bucky’s mouth was ajar, drooling on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s cheek rested against the top of Bucky’s head. Since Steve’s asthma had been cured by the serum, he no longer snored. But Bucky did, softly and gently, like a giant cat purring. His whole chest rumbled, vibrating pleasantly against Steve’s.

It was Steve’s eyes that opened first. At first, he was unsure of his surroundings, not recognizing the hotel drapes or the hotel lamp. But through the fuzzy haze of sleep, memories trailed in. Bucky kissing him, saying “I love you.” Bodies intertwined, slick with sweat. Heavy breathing. Lightheaded giddiness sweeping them both away on a cloud of surrender as they drifted off to sleep. Steve kissed the top of Bucky’s head; his hair smelled musty and sweet.

Bucky had slept more peacefully than he had in decades. He woke up slowly in Steve’s arms, not caring for a while whether he was still dreaming. Then, through the dreamy haze of sleep, he remembered Steve’s earnest blue eyes, Steve saying “I love you.” Finally kissing Steve, losing himself in Steve. It hadn’t exactly been sex, hadn’t exactly been making love, but it was something close to it. Bucky smiled against Steve’s shoulder, imagining all the ways he’d make love to him now that he could.

Steve felt Bucky’s sinful mouth curling against his shoulder. He looked down. Bucky’s eyes were still closed, but his cheeks were raised by his smile. Steve felt Bucky’s pulse picking up, felt the blood rushing between them. The muscles in Steve’s lower abdomen tightened; he inhaled deeply and exhaled through parted lips against Bucky’s hair. Bucky inhaled, smile fading, and tilted his head. He gazed at Steve through heavily lidded eyes, mouth red and wet and open and inviting. Steve kissed him, tongue immediately inside Bucky’s mouth. Bucky grabbed the nape of Steve’s neck and pressed their mouths closer together, tongue rising eagerly to meet Steve’s. They rolled their hips rhythmically, breaths growing heavy.

There was a knock at the door.

Bucky’s eyes flew open. He paused mid-kiss. Steve kissed him for a moment longer, then pulled away, lips puffy, eyes clouded with arousal, golden eyebrows drawn over his nose in confusion. Bucky was staring at the door. Someone knocked again.

“Who’s there?” Steve called, turning his head but otherwise not moving.

“Suit up,” ordered a familiar voice on the other side of the door. “Meeting in twenty.”

Steve groaned. “What about breakfast?”

“Provided,” the voice informed. “Open the door, please. Special delivery.”

Steve pouted, hair mussed, lips bright pink and full with arousal, blue eyes hazy and petulant. Bucky almost wanted to laugh, except that they were both rock-hard and there was nothing he wanted to do more than kiss Steve again. Steve kissed Bucky again. Bucky immediately pulled him closer, kissing back. Steve moaned and deepened the kiss more than he should. Bucky moaned back and started rolling his hips again, breaths deep and uneven. Steve’s breathing was just as desperate.

The person knocked again. “Now, please.”

Steve groaned loudly, breaking the kiss and rolling away. He yanked on the nearest pair of underwear, which happened to be the blue-and-gray boxers Bucky had been wearing last night, and answered the door. Coulson took in Steve’s mussed hair, pouty lips, fevered gaze, flushed skin, and very obvious boxer tent with wide eyes, a deep blush spreading across his face. Coulson stood there agape for a minute, hot from the roots of his hair to the base of his tie, before handing Steve a navy briefcase with a star on it. “Your costumes,” Coulson announced, voice high and cracking and slightly breathless. Steve grabbed the briefcase, hastily shut the door, dropped the briefcase on the floor at the foot of the bed, threw the blankets aside, and pinned Bucky against the mattress with a searing kiss. Bucky's eyes widened for a brief moment before he happily gave in and returned the kiss with equal passion. Steve rutted against Bucky, perfectly aligned so that every thrust rubbed Bucky’s erection from base to tip. Bucky’s breathing quickly grew deep and ragged.

Coulson knocked on the door again and cleared his throat. “Fury doesn’t like it when you’re late,” he announced timidly.

Steve ignored him and ground hard against Bucky. Bucky tore his mouth away from Steve’s and moaned loudly, hands around Steve’s back, gripping his shoulders. Steve whimpered and thrust faster, neck sagging until Steve was breathing heavily against Bucky’s hair, only an inch from his ear. Bucky called out Steve’s name. Steve moaned desperately, breath hitching.

Coulson stood outside the door, face red, shifting his weight awkwardly as he repeatedly checked his watch. He could hear heavy breathing and erotic moans muffled by the door. He fought the onslaught of mental images of his idol in various positions, but the pleasured moaning vibrating through the door was really not helping.

“Bucky—!” Steve called out desperately, shuddering as he bucked his hips, pressing hard, semen leaking through the thin material of Bucky’s boxers. Bucky threw his head back and called Steve’s name again as he spurted against himself, covering his own torso with warm liquid.

Coulson cleared his throat and tried to erase the new mental images this invoked. He’d suspected the rumors might be true. A maid walked by, rolling a cart full of bedsheets. She smiled politely at him as she rolled past. Coulson smiled tightly and nodded, hands folded in front of his crotch, eyes too bright, face pink. She glanced at the door Coulson was standing in front of. Coulson laughed nervously. The maid’s face was impassive; she rolled on.

Steve lay panting against Bucky’s shoulder, torsos flush together once more, squeezing the liquid between them. They both trembled with aftershocks. “Bucky, I love you,” Steve whispered between breaths.

Bucky smiled, still breathing heavily. “Oh Steve,” he breathed. Steve raised his panting face and kissed him, breath coming out in hot puffs through his nostrils. Bucky kissed him back eagerly.

Steve pulled back, lips puffy, eyes dazed.

“God I love you,” Bucky whispered. They kissed again.

Coulson tentatively knocked on the door. “Gentlemen? Fury is not a patient man…”

Steve groaned. He reached over to the bedside table and plucked a handful of tissues from the box, wiped them down more quickly than he would have liked, kissed Bucky again, stood, and threw the tissues away.

Bucky sat up on the bed, grinning. “You know those are my shorts, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered from the bathroom. He started brushing his teeth.

“You should wear them more often,” Bucky teased. The shorts hugged Steve’s hips like a second skin.

“Then what would you wear?” Steve quipped, spitting.

Bucky shrugged. “Nothing, ‘f you want.”

Steve grinned.

While Steve brushed his teeth, Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him. He opened the briefcase. Steve’s old Captain America uniform was in there, the one he’d worn into battle. Boots and all. Under that was another jacket- navy with a star on the left sleeve- a red undershirt, the same shade that was on Steve’s costume- a black pair of pants, and a pair of boots the same color as Steve’s. He blinked at the outfit. The jacket was somewhat reminiscent of that damned coat he’d worn in the arctic for almost seventy years, but its blue was the same hue as Steve’s costume, only darker. It closed with several brass buttons, and was adorned with more unnecessary brass buttons of the same size and shape, presumably because it looked sharp. Steve came out of the bathroom naked, having discarded and cleaned the debauched boxer-briefs, and watched Bucky curiously. Bucky was holding up his jacket and staring at the buttons. “S.H.I.E.L.D. gave you a costume?” Steve asked.

“Apparently.”

Steve leaned down beside him. He smiled. “Always loved that color on you.”

Bucky grinned. “Oh?”

Their eyes met. “Brings out your eyes.”

“Well then.” Bucky set the costume on the bed. He found, a clean pair of boxer-briefs and slipped them on. Steve watched appreciatively before slipping into his own pair of briefs. They donned their respective costumes, watching each other all the while. They had just begun to admire each other in full costume when Coulson knocked on the door again. “We’re late,” Coulson announced.

Steve frowned. “You said meeting in twenty, it’s only been fifteen.”

“I meant we had to _be there_ in twenty.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. Steve looked simultaneously proud and cheesy; Bucky owned every inch of his costume and looked nothing short of debonair. “You look fantastic,” Steve announced.

Bucky grinned. “So do you. Shall we?” He held out an elbow.

Steve rolled his eyes and opened the door.

Coulson took in the floating costume behind Steve. “That one’s experimental. Developed by the same people who costumed Susan Storm—who you’ve probably never heard of. Well. It’s supposed to be able to turn invisible. So, however you do that… _if_ you have control over it,” Coulson was cut off mid-sentence by Bucky’s costume vanishing. “Ah. Good. Um—do you, by any chance, know how to become _visible_ again?” Bucky shook his head; Steve realized belatedly that Coulson couldn’t see it. Coulson glanced expectantly at Steve.

“No. He can’t.”

“I used to,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve cast a worried glance at him.

“I don’t know what happened…”

Coulson looked between Steve and the spot where the outfit had been floating just behind him a moment ago. “Sorry to cut your conversation short, gentlemen, but we really need to go.” He stepped back and indicated they should step out of the room. “Shall we?”


	9. Put On The Suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off on a mission  
> We're tough, in good condition  
> We're short but standing tall  
> No fear!
> 
> There's danger around us  
> They'd hurt us if they found us  
> Our backs are to the wall  
> No fear!
> 
> 'Cause we have all the courage we require here
> 
> \--"No Fear" -from The Swan Princess soundtrack

* * *

“You’re late,” was the first thing Fury said when they entered the room.

Coulson cleared his throat and pasted a blank smile on his face. “There was a problem with Barnes’s costume.”

Fury raised his eyebrow. “A problem?”

The trio came to a stop standing in front of Fury. Coulson’s gaze flickered ever so briefly towards Steve. “They were having problems keeping it on.”

Fury gave Steve a long probing look. Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. Bucky tried hard not to laugh. A light blush spread across Steve’s face.

“Is the problem fixed?” Fury asked.

Coulson smiled, eyes purposely blank. “For the moment.”

Bucky snickered. Steve wiped at his mouth to hide his smile.

Fury leveled another probing glance at Steve. “Do let me know if there are any other _problems_ with your friend’s costume.”

Steve bit his lips and nodded, face red. Bucky buried his face against Steve’s bicep, shaking with silent laughter.

Coulson pulled out a chair for each of them and stood behind Fury, hands folded over his crotch. He smiled at them as blankly and politely as possible.

Steve and Bucky sat in the offered seats.

Fury turned a knob on the device on his wrist. His visible eye turned red. He stared directly into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s spine straightened; he stared back at Fury in surprise. “I can’t hear you,” Fury began, “but this handy contact lens allows me to see you. We’re seeing about getting the rest of the team fitted with them. In the meantime, you are expected to cooperate and function as part of the team, even if they cannot see you. Understood?”

Bucky nodded.

“Good. Now, according to the tests we conducted yesterday, you are there, but at the same time, you’re not. I don’t pretend to understand quantum mechanics, but that’s the current theory: that you are a quantum anomaly. Which makes you very interesting to me, Mr. Barnes.” Fury’s hands were folded near his mouth. His elbows rested on the table. “According to one of my best agents, you claim to be an angel. Considering the fact that the reason I have assembled all of you is to fight a shapeshifting Norse god who controls a floating cube which contains seemingly unlimited energy, I can’t say I would be surprised if that turned out to be true. But I have no proof.” Fury leaned back. “At any rate, you and Captain Rogers here seem determined to fight as a team. So that is exactly what I am going to have you do. But if either of you prove to be a _distraction_ to each other, or the mission,” Fury said, pinning them each with a penetrating glance, “you will be separated. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “what the fuck was all that testing for?”

Steve politely paraphrased Bucky’s question.

Fury glared at Bucky. “The testing was to prove you’re _real_.”

Bucky gestured angrily with his hands and said Fury could not hear.

“What was that?”

Steve cleared his throat and paraphrased. “He asked why the infrared evidence wasn’t enough.”

Fury considered this question. He made a you-caught-me face. “All right. We were testing to see what you are capable of. Does that answer your question?” His voice dripped with veiled threats.

Steve and Bucky edged closer to each other until they were touching from shoulder to knee. Steve’s shoulders squared protectively. Bucky glared at Fury. “There is no way he’s taking me away from you,” Bucky growled.

“I know,” Steve returned, glaring at Fury.

Something trilled a series of electronic tones. Fury switched his eye back to black and pushed a button on the table in front of him. A large screen lit up a portion of the wall. Maria Hill started speaking immediately. “Fury, there’s been a disturbance. It’s Loki.”

“Already?” Fury sat forward. “Where?”

“A party in Los Angeles. We’ve prepared a plane to take the Captain there now.”

Fury glanced at Steve. “Very well.” To Coulson, he ordered: “Escort them.”

* * *

The party was at a large venue, walls high and ornate, music classical. Stuffy rich men walked around in penguin suits. Equally snooty rich women paraded around in their designer dresses. Loki fit right in, elegant to the bone. He smirked, artificially blue eyes glowing, and took great joy in hurling a particular rich snob onto a table and scanning his retina with an instrument which may or may not have permanently damaged his eye socket.

He was really enjoying himself, lording over these pathetic humans in full Asgardian royal garb, when suddenly a man in a red-white-and-blue star-spangled outfit stood above the crowd and started talking back to him as though he had some sort of authority over a god. Loki impatiently exchanged banter with him, irked that his conquest had been momentarily interfered with.

Bucky swore he was having heart palpitations. Steve was clearly angering Loki, yet Steve Rogers kept shooting off that mouth of his as though he had no sense of self-preservation. When Iron Man swooped down next to Steve and showed Loki that he was comically outgunned, Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see a masked man in his entire life. He was even more excited to learn that Iron Man was no other than the son of Howard Stark. Bucky had always looked up to Howard Stark; he’d not-so-secretly been kind of a science nerd. Steve was the only one outside of Bucky’s family who ever knew this. Bucky was dying to shake hands with Tony or something. He hadn’t heard much about the son of Howard Stark, but he had learned that he was a genius with technology and had continued his father’s trade, made groundbreaking inventions, and even designed the iron suit he wore.

Bucky was further enamored by Tony’s constant stream of snark, right up until the point where Tony started insulting Steve. This hit Bucky like a slap to the face. He stood protectively closer to Steve, frowning at him. Steve glanced at Bucky.

“What?” Tony simpered, noting this, “Is your little boyfriend gonna beat me up? Did I hurt your feelings? –Good!” Tony turned away and started talking to the pilot.

Bucky bristled. Then noticed, for the first time, that the pilot was the same person who had interviewed him. _She—she’s the one who made me admit I’m Steve’s guardian angel!_ Bucky eyed her warily.

Lightning flashed. Loki, for the first time, appeared frightened.

“What’s the matter?” Steve quipped, surprised that Loki would be afraid of lightning, of all things. “Scared of a little lightning?”

Loki turned to him as though he were stupid. “I’m not overly fond of what follows,” he replied crisply.

A very muscular blond man wearing silver armor and a huge red cape suddenly entered the plane. He and Loki exchanged a brief conversation before jumping out of the plane. Tony flipped down his helmet and followed. Steve hesitated for the briefest moment before deciding to follow.

“What are you doing?!” Bucky shouted over the wind. “You’re not wearing a parachute!”

“Nope.”

“You can’t jump out of an airplane without a parachute!!”

“Sure I can.”

“Steve this is crazy!! Get a fucking parachute!!”

Steve smirked at him. “Why should I? I have you.” With that, Steve jumped out of the airplane.

Bucky cursed and jumped after him. He caught Steve mid-air and followed the lights given off by Stark’s suit.

“See? Told you I’d be fine!” Steve shouted over the wind.

“You goddamn idiot!”

Steve grinned. “What? We’re not that far up.”

“Don’t—!”

“I’ve jumped from higher.”

“Steve!!” Bucky screamed, appalled.

“I had to, Bucky. Loki has the cube.”

“I know!”

“We can’t let him use that!”

“I know!!” They were gaining on Tony. Bucky was privately pleased with himself over the fact that he could keep up with Tony’s suit, which was known to travel at the speed of a jet. However, most of him was still pissed off that Steve would willingly jump out of an airplane without a parachute in order to track down a god whom he’d faced off with earlier even though Loki was clearly much stronger and more powerful, and a man who had just insulted both of them and turned out to be a huge disappointment.

“You saw what that cube can do, Bucky!”

“I know!!” Of course he remembered; he’d had nightmares about that for years afterwards. He’d lost sight of Tony; Tony had landed somewhere. Bucky continued toward the spot where Tony had disappeared. “Trust me, I know.”

“You know I do.”

Bucky held Steve a little tighter. He missed his goggles; he had to squint until his eyes were nearly shut and his eyes were still full of tears. He slowed; shouts and clanging were audible from the forest below. He found Tony in a clearing, fighting the large muscular blond man with the cape.

Naturally, Steve had to jump in. _Steve, your mouth is not helping._ Bucky tried to warn Steve that his words were angering the man with the hammer, but then the man was swinging his mighty hammer down on Steve’s shield and Bucky was wrapped protectively around Steve and a blinding light accompanied the ear-shattering clang of hammer against shield. Trees were flattened in a ring around them as far as they could see. The four of them stood shakily. “So,” Steve asked as levelly as he could, “Are we done here?” 

* * *

Steve and Bucky sat side-by-side at the wide conference table on the helicarrier. Despite the absurdity of his star-spangled uniform, Steve was positively majestic. Shoulders back, spine straight, expression serious, if slightly annoyed. Tony paced around restlessly, chattering and offering everyone blueberries. A quiet man in glasses stood behind a desk covered in scientific materials. The attractive female pilot quietly observed from a place standing somewhat away from the table. The muscular man in the cape turned out to be Thor, Loki’s brother. –Loki’s _adoptive_ brother. Steve and Bucky were holding hands under the table, thumbs idly stroking each other, when Fury turned to the group and announced, “You all may have heard some rumors about Cap.” Everyone fell silent; all eyes were on Fury. He continued, “Cap appeared to have an imaginary friend, or a ghost, following him which he could interact with and which only he could see. Well, it turns out his friend is not so imaginary. He _apparently_ can turn visible and invisible at will, but there seems to be a glitch with that, so for the moment, Steve is the only one who can communicate with him.” He paused and leveled everyone with a look. “More on this as it develops. For the meantime, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to take my word for it. Barnes,” he addressed the empty chair beside Steve, “could you turn visible right now?”

“But you just said—whoa,” Tony objected then cut himself off when Bucky’s costume suddenly appeared. “Is- is anyone else seeing that?” He glanced around the room. “Tell me I’m not the only one.”

The man behind the desk lowered his glasses and examined Bucky’s suit with scientific curiosity. Thor glanced at Bucky and seemed only slightly surprised.

“You’re not the only one,” stated the woman warily. She glanced at Fury. “Do we know what he is yet?”

“Not yet,” Fury answered. “Still testing. We’ll hopefully have results soon.”

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky.

“Can he make the suit disappear again? That’s getting kind of eerie.” Tony was eyeing Bucky’s costume and frowning.

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned invisible again.

“Moving on,” Fury stated. He described the situation with Loki, and the cube, and Hydra. Fury claimed that S.H.I.E.L.D. was interested in the cube for its capabilities to produce indefinitely sustainable energy, went on a brief schpiel about how the world was badly in need of clean energy and the cube could provide just that. Everyone seemed only half-interested. Steve and Bucky were somewhat perplexed, as this was the first they’d heard of this problem and they only half-understood the science behind it. Steve understood less than Bucky, since Bucky had always been the science nerd. He could feel tension rising in Steve, as he was alternately patronized and treated as though everyone knew what Fury was talking about and only an ignoramus wouldn’t understand.

When Fury’s speech had concluded, Tony strutted around the room making snarky comments, talking too fast, and offering everyone blueberries. He paused and tossed a blueberry in Bucky’s general direction, as though testing something. The blueberry paused in mid-air as Bucky invisibly caught it. He brought the blueberry in an arc to his mouth. He’d never eaten while invisible before. “Hey Steve, you’ll have to tell me how this looks.”

“Holy shit! Did anyone else hear that?!” Tony jumped back, spilling some of his blueberries as they rolled up out of the bag.

Bucky froze, blueberry mid-air. “Wait. You can hear me?”

Tony’s eyes darted around the room. “Tell me I’m not the only one who heard that!”

“Heard what?” the woman asked, confused.

“That voice! I swear I heard a voice just now! I don’t know where it was coming from but _I heard something!”_ Tony looked extremely unsettled.

Bucky smirked invisibly. He popped the blueberry in his mouth. Steve’s only indication of Bucky leaving was when Bucky’s hand slipped out of his. Bucky briefly turned non-corporeal to appear behind Tony as silently as possible. He re-materialized, still invisible, and said in his spookiest voice, “Tony… _Tony…_ ”

Tony’s heart was pounding, his eyes wide and darting frantically around the room.

Steve guessed what Bucky was doing and struggled to keep a concerned poker face. Bucky leaned close to Tony’s ear, not quite touching him, and said in his spooky voice, “I am the ghost of your father, Tony!”

Tony whirled around, murderous and panicked, blueberries spilling everywhere. His face was blotchy and red. “Who the fuck are you!”

Thor caught on and stood by, amused. Natasha and Bruce appeared perplexed; Fury looked 500% done with this shit. Steve maintained his poker face.

Bucky turned everything non-corporeal except for his head, which floated invisibly just above and behind Tony’s. “You’ve been a naughty boy,” he taunted.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Tony threw blueberries towards the freaky voice. Bucky laughed and returned to his seat, reclining next to Steve as though nothing had happened. Tony scanned the room, panicked and pissed off. “Whatever the fuck that was, that was NOT FUNNY!”

“Gentlemen!” Fury barked. All eyes were on Fury. He started reiterating the severity of the situation. Tony interrupted him as though he owned the place and started snarking again, but his snark had an edge to it. Bruce mostly kept to himself, wishing he wasn’t there. Natasha hovered away from the closing circle of men, poised and dangerous. Tension was rising. Cutting comments began. Everyone started treating Steve as though he was in way over his head. Steve grew increasingly annoyed by this until he walked out of the room.

Bucky followed after him. “Where are you going?!”

“To find out what S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hiding.” Steve strode purposefully, face determined.

“Why so sure they’re hiding something?”

Steve’s gaze was straight ahead. “Tony’s right. There’s something fishy going on. And I want to find out what.”

* * *

What Steve found was a vault full of weapons. He toted back a few of these to the conference room and set them down on the table. “Sorry,” he said, clearly not sorry, “Computer’s a little too slow for me.”

Fury opened his mouth to explain, but Tony cut him off, swiveling a computer screen in his direction. “Um, sorry, what were you lying?” The computer displayed plans for a weapon very similar to the one Steve had placed on the table.

Fury was forced to admit that S.H.I.E.L.D. _was_ interested in the Tesseract for weapons development purposes, but he tried to spin it in as noble a way as possible, reiterating that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s aim was to protect people. Several voices had objections and skeptical questions. Everyone started talking over top of each other. Tension rose. Cutting remarks were exchanged. Steve found himself facing off with Tony. Bucky stood invisibly nearby, fists clenched, jaw working. Tony seemed to think he was hot shit. Steve thought it was all bluster. “Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

“Genius millionaire playboy philanthropist,” Tony returned confidently.

“Yeah?” They were nearly nose-to-nose now. Steve’s hand was clenched around Bucky’s. “I know men with none of that worth ten of you.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, chest tightening. “Steve…!”

But Tony wasn’t done. They exchanged more cutting banter. Steve challenged Tony to put on the suit and go a few rounds. Bucky repeated Steve’s name warningly. Steve ignored the warning and challenged Tony again. Tony sized up Steve and decided he had the upper hand. “You’re a factory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”

Something in Bucky snapped. Tony was on the ground clutching his nose before Bucky realized he’d swung his punch. He stood angrily panting, one hand still holding Steve’s, other fist clenched, ready to punch Tony again if he said another word when Fury suddenly barked “Put the weapon down!”

All eyes turned to Bruce, who was holding Loki’s staff. Bruce seemed surprised that he was holding it. He set the weapon down carefully and stated, voice bitter, that they wouldn’t see his ‘party trick’ after all. Steve watched Bruce leave, concerned. Natasha followed after him. Steve was about to ask something when the ground suddenly shook, sending Steve sprawling on top of Tony. Bucky landed on top of Steve, shielding his body against whatever was happening. The ground stopped shaking, but it was tilted. Bucky helped Steve to his feet, still invisible. Steve suggested that Tony put on the suit. Tony agreed. They exited the room together, Steve and Tony helping each other remain on their feet, Bucky trailing just behind and feeling weirdly jealous of Tony. He was slightly relived when they parted ways.

Bucky and Steve found themselves standing at the edge of a gaping hole in the ship. “THIS SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM,” Steve shouted over the wind.

“WHATEVER GAVE YOU THAT IDEA?” Bucky shouted back.

Steve tapped his earpiece. “Stark? STARK I’M HERE!” he announced over the roaring of the wind.

Iron Man appeared in his suit, flying near the engine. He mock-saluted Steve and said “Roger that!” into his earpiece. He stroked the chin of his suit. “I’m gonna have to get in there and dislodge some of the debris! Cover me!”

Steve acknowledged this command. Iron Man flew into the damaged engine and began dislodging debris. He communicated with Steve through the earpiece; Steve looked completely lost. Then, to make matters worse, several masked men started attacking Steve. “Oh no you don’t!” Bucky shouted, punching and roundhouse kicking them one by one. The men seemed surprised by their invisible assailant. One by one, they were knocked out. Most of them wound up being kicked out of the plane. Bucky may or may not have done that on purpose. _NO ONE messes with Steve!_

One of the masked assholes started shooting at Steve. Steve pulled his shield off his back and cowered behind it. “You MOTHER FUCKER!” Bucky shouted at the asshole with the machine gun, shooting a blast of energy at him and knocking him out cold. He shot blasts of energy at the rest of his assailants until they were all unconscious and blasted them straight out of the helicarrier.

Steve, meanwhile, had scrambled over to a control panel in the wall, opened it, and was staring into it, confused. “It seems to run on some sort of electricity!”

Bucky rushed over to Steve’s side. The technology was alien to him, but he knew some of the basics, since he was an engineer by hobby. They huddled over the panel together, trying to make sense out of it. Tony was shouting frantic instructions into the earpiece; Bucky couldn’t hear what Tony was saying but he sounded kind of worried. “Speak English!” Steve pleaded, frustrated. Tony said something slowly. Steve nodded and found a lever. He placed his hand on it and waited for the signal. Inside the engine, Iron Man was pushing the blades around and around. He gave Steve the signal; Steve pulled the lever. Iron Man flew gracefully up out of the engine and gave him a thumbs-up.

Bucky pulled Steve away from the gaping hole and further into the ship. He felt him all over, forgetting he was still invisible until he realized he couldn’t see his hands. He turned visible again and continued feeling Steve all over for cuts and bruises. “Are you okay?!”

“Fine, Buck.”

Bucky stared into his eyes, concerned. “Are you sure?!”

Steve smiled at him. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Bucky’s hands tightened on Steve’s shoulders. “None of the bullets hit you? You’re okay?”

Steve’s smile softened. “Yeah Buck. I’m okay.”

Tony strode up to them, mask flipped up. He glanced at Bucky, then at Steve. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Wait, can you see him?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tony flicked Bucky’s nose. Bucky scrunched his nose and grabbed it. Tony raised his eyebrows at Steve.

“Tony,” Steve said levelly, “This is Bucky. Bucky? Tony.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tony stated with a half-smile, reaching out an armored hand to shake Bucky’s.

Bucky eyed him warily and reached out to shake his hand. The handshake was brief and firm; although tempted, Tony did _not_ crush Bucky’s fingers in his grasp.

“And by the way, you do a _terrible_ impression of my father.”

Bucky tilted his head and gave Tony his cocksure smile. “I knew him, you know.”

Tony’s expression darkened, smile freezing on his face. “Then your impression was all the worse,” he said.

Bucky faced Tony fully, with his shoulder against Steve’s chest and Steve standing slightly behind him with his arm around Bucky, hand on his shoulder. Tony and Bucky sized each other up. “You look a lot like him, you know,” Bucky noted.

Tony smiled tensely. “So I’ve heard. Well, love to stay and chat, but, you know. Suit.” He gestured to the red and gold suit he was wearing and walked away without another word.

“Guess I’m visible now?” Bucky stated, frowning after him.

“Why weren’t you before?”

“I have no idea.” He smirked at Steve. “’s fun being invisible though.”

Steve smirked at Bucky. “You nearly scared his pants off. Jerk.”

Bucky faced Steve. “That was the point. Punk.” He cupped Steve’s face. Steve smiled at him. Bucky took this as a sign and brought their lips together. Steve’s smile gently faded into a warm kiss. Bucky stroked Steve’s cheek tenderly with his thumb. Steve tilted his head further and pulled Bucky in by the waist. Bucky inhaled sharply and wound his arms up around Steve’s shoulders. He found himself with his back pressed against a wall, Steve’s arms up inside his jacket, hands warm against his back. Steve’s tongue pressed into Bucky’s mouth; Bucky took him in gratefully. Steve had completely forgotten where they were. His fingernails scraped at Bucky’s spine, making Bucky arch and shiver against him. Bucky’s fingers tangled in his hair.

“Captain!” barked Fury’s voice in Steve’s earpiece, causing them to jump apart. 

“Wha? What izzit?” Bucky slurred, dazed, breathing heavily.

Steve pressed the button to respond. “Yeah?”

“I need you in the conference room. Stat.”

“Roger that.” He could practically feel Fury rolling his eyes.

Bucky straightened his costume and attempted to fix his hair. “Whozzat?”

“Fury.” Steve straightened his own costume, forgetting about his hair, which was mussed and sticking up in the back in an adorable little ducktail. “He wants us in the conference room.”

Bucky cleared his throat and blinked to clear his eyes; his pupils were still blown, his vision unfocused on everything but Steve. “Then what are we waiting for?”

* * *

Steve and Bucky arrived at the conference room walking extremely close, hair sticking up at odd angles. Fury shot a judging look at Steve’s ducktail and decided not to say anything. “Gentlemen. Have a seat.” The only other person in the room was Tony. Tony’s body was angled away from them, chin propped on his hand. Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance and took seats on the far end of the table. They casually leaned their shoulders against each other and held hands under the table, forgetting that Bucky was visible.

“So you really are Barnes,” Fury observed. He stood and approached the table.

“Who else would I be?” Bucky retorted. His cocky attitude faltered when Fury tossed a handful of bloody cards on the table.

“These were in Coulson’s pocket. Guess he never did get you to sign them.”

Steve frowned. “Coulson’s dead?!”

Fury leveled a glance at Steve. “Yes. Which is a shame, because he really believed in you.” He turned his eye to Bucky. “And you.” And Tony. “And even you.” Fury folded his arms behind his back. “Coulson believed in all sorts of things. He believed that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s duty is to protect people. He believed that each of you was special. And he believed that if we brought all of you together, that you could form a team.” Fury laughed bitterly. “I guess he was wrong on that last one.”

Steve was staring at one of the bloody cards. His picture stared back at him, wearing the cheesy stage costume and saluting like he had on the posters.

Fury continued, “Coulson died believing in the Avengers Initiative. There are some that would call him a fool.” Fury left this phrase dangling. He turned his back to them and stared out the window. “Shame to lose such a good agent.” He paused and lowered his head. “And a good man.”

Tony abruptly stood and walked out.

Fury glanced after him judgmentally, then turned his intense gaze on Steve and Bucky. “Coulson firmly believed that you were _not_ crazy. He tried to convince me that whatever Bucky was, he was really there. I’m a big enough man to admit I was wrong. I doubted you, and I’m sorry.” His ‘sorry’ was extremely authoritative and begged no argument. He continued, “The costume was Coulson’s idea. He designed it based on the outfit Lucky wore in the comics.” Fury shook his head, smile sardonic and a touch bitter. “He wanted you to look like a team.” He looked them over. “Guess he got his wish.”

Steve and Bucky stared at the cards on the table, digesting the fact that Coulson was dead. He’d seemed immortal, somehow. Like his death was impossible.

“Where are the others?”

Bucky only noticed after Steve asked this that it was strange Tony was the only other person in the room.

“Barton is compromised,” Fury said. “You haven’t met him. Thor left at some point, presumably with Loki, but we’re not sure yet. We’re still tracking him down. Bruce turned into The Hulk and is currently missing. We have no idea where he landed. And we’re not sure about Natasha. She was last seen with Bruce.”

Steve sighed. “So this is our team? Us,” he said looking at Bucky, “and Tony?”

“Unless you can find the others and convince them to rejoin.”

Steve stood, face resolute. He set the card he’d been holding on the table. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Bucky wasn’t sure, but for a second it looked like Fury almost smiled.

* * *

Steve found Tony first. They exchanged a tense conversation. Steve realized midway through that this might be the first time Tony had lost a soldier. Tony objected hotly, grinding out “We are _not_ soldiers!” almost nose-to-nose with Steve again. Tony backed away slightly and stated that he was not just blindly following Fury’s orders.

Steve stated levelly that “Neither am I.” He went on, stating that regardless of orders, they needed to complete their mission, when Tony interrupted. He explained, with occasional interruptions from Steve, that Loki was a diva. He wanted to put on a show. He wanted an audience, his name up in lights, a monument with his name plastered on it—“Son of a bitch.”

* * *

Steve found Natasha next. She was in a room with Clint Barton, whose eyes were no longer alarmingly blue, just regular blue. Steve asked with a glance if Clint was okay. Natasha’s eyes said yes. Steve asked if either of them could pilot a plane. Clint volunteered.

Bucky had a feeling Steve and Clint were going to get along. Clint was wisecracking the entire time he flew, despite the gravity of the situation. He was daring, and from the sounds of it, he’d gotten into dozens of hopeless scrapes and gone down fighting anyway.

Steve had a feeling Bucky and Clint were going to get along. Bucky smirked at most of Clint’s jokes. He kept looking to Steve with his wasn’t-that-funny? face. Steve barely knew Clint but he liked him right away. Clint was a man who would go down fighting.

Clint was a great pilot but apparently he sucked at landing, if their nosedive into a busy intersection was any indication of his skills. Natasha swore Clint was a better pilot than that and they crashed because of the smoking hole in the side of their plane. Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Steve elbowed him. Bucky snickered. Natasha and Clint exited the plane and helped Steve and Bucky climb down.

“So,” Steve said once they were on the ground, “Now what?”

Clint pointed to the gigantic hole in the sky, out of which were pouring thousands of mechanical-looking aliens. “I’m guessing we’ll have to do something about that.”

Bucky paled. “Jesus fuck! What the fuck is that?!”

“The Chitauri,” Natasha deadpanned, examining their surroundings with the eyes of a trained assassin. She pressed her earpiece. “Stark? You there?”

Iron Man flew overhead, heading towards Stark Tower. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Plan of action?”

Steve, too, had been examining their surroundings. He started rattling off logistics, using old army lingo. Natasha and Clint nodded, somewhat taken aback but understanding most of it. “Are you catching this, Tony?” Natasha asked into her earpiece.

“Loud and clear.” Tony jetted out of sight.

A metal alien thing flew overhead and dropped several metallic alien-dudes nearby. Clint started shooting at them; Bucky killed several with blasts of energy. Natasha kicked and punched any that came near. “Can you hold them back?” Steve called to Natasha and Clint. He pointed to a helpless group of civilians down the street. “They’re fish in a barrel down there.”

“Captain,” said Clint, firing an arrow and killing one without even looking. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Steve nodded at Clint, glanced at Bucky _Come with me_ , and set off at a jog towards the civilians. Steve fought off several with his shield; Bucky blasted energy at any aliens that tried to harm Steve. “Use the damn shield to protect yourself!”

“Why? It’s a weapon!”

“It wasn’t built for that!”

“Bucky, now is a terrible time to lecture me on my personal safety.” Steve threw his shield at an alien. The shield neatly decapitated not only that alien, but the alien behind him, and the alien behind him as well. Steve retrieved his shield from the side of a building and somersaulted to the ground, landing squarely on his feet.

Bucky blasted the aliens nearby which were raising their weapons to shoot at Steve. “Someone has to!”

Steve held up his shield to ward off the blast of an alien weapon. “Not now, Buck!”

Bucky blew up the offending shooter. “I think now is a perfect time to tell you to defend yourself!”

Steve got up running and punched an alien in the face, knocking it out. He chopped off its head with his shield. “What does it look like I’m doing!”

Bucky blasted two aliens who were flying overhead, weapons aimed at Steve. “Being reckless!” Their weapons blasted at the same time Bucky fired his energy blasts, knocking Bucky back into Steve with recoil.

Steve caught Bucky and helped him regain his balance. They were now in the center of panicked civilians milling aimlessly around and screaming, hiding under cars, and occasionally being shot dead by the Chitauri. “And you’re not?” Steve retorted, only half-paying attention to the conversation as he surveyed the area and tried to decide the best way to get everyone out of harm’s way.

Bucky stood back-to-back with Steve, ready to defend him to the death. “I’m only out here to protect _you!_ ”

“I don’t need protecting!” Steve formed a plan. “I need help!”

“You bet your sweet ass you need help,” Bucky retorted, turning around as he felt Steve’s shift in emotion. “Got a plan?”

Steve nodded and pointed to a building down the street. “They should be safe over there. We’ve got to corral them…” He gestured the routes through the tangle of crashed cars and rubble.

“Say no more.” Bucky blasted at the aliens who came near. They fell off their vehicles and crashed down into the crowd. Civilians scattered away from the falling bodies.

“We’re gonna have to split up!”

Bucky glared at him. “NO.”

“Bucky—,”

“NO! You and me till the end of the line, all right? I’m sticking to your ass like a barnacle.”

“Bucky—,”

Bucky stepped nose-to-nose with Steve and pointed a finger between his pecs. “You need someone to defend your ass!” Bucky blasted another alien who was about to shoot at Steve; he’d seen it out of his periphery. The alien crashed to the ground a dozen feet away and came rolling to a spot near their feet, dead. Bucky gestured to the corpse and raised his eyebrows to demonstrate his point.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine. But we’re going to have to run.”

“I could run all day.” Bucky always hated running, because it was terribly unattractive, it messed up his hair, and usually when he was running, it was because Steve was doing something stupid. But for Steve, he would run all day.

“Good. Let’s start.” Steve took off sprinting towards the nearest escape route and started instructing civilians. Bucky flew close behind, invisible, and shot at every alien he saw. He was taking no chances. It took them the better part of half an hour, but together they managed to evacuate the civilians from the dangerous area.

Were Bucky not so preoccupied with fighting off the seemingly endless horde of Chitauri, he might have been more concerned with the fact that Steve was leaping from car to car and loosely dodging explosions. The back of his costume was singed. He’d slipped on the hoods of no less than three cars already. Bucky glared at him invisibly and shouted something about not twisting his ankle. Steve heard him and tried to be more careful about his ankles, but this did not stop him from leaping car-to-car and battling aliens with his shield mid-air.

Steve made a beeline towards a circle of parked police cars, lights flashing. He’d discovered several more pockets of trapped civilians. He instructed the officers how to direct the people to safety. The officers stared dubiously at Steve and asked who made him boss. Three aliens landed behind Steve. Bucky held them in place with a forcefield while Steve lopped off two of their heads with his shield and ripped the arm off of the third one, kicked them in the chest, sending them crashing to the ground, and beat up the amputee with its own severed limb, ramming it through its chest. He turned back towards the officers with a raised eyebrow, a mixture of alien blood and oil on his face.

The officers repeated Steve’s instructions and set about following them.

Satisfied that the civilians were safe, Steve set off back towards Clint and Natasha. Bucky shot down most of the aliens they encountered on their way back; Steve got the rest with his shield. Natasha was getting tired, but she was too ferocious a fighter to let that slow her down. She was still using martial arts like a champ. Clint was still firing arrows and hitting his targets with seeming effortless ease.

A new wave of aliens suddenly appeared. Just as Bucky was about to blast them, the aliens were simultaneously struck down by lightning. Thor crashed to the ground nearby, kneeling on one knee, hammer smashing against the pavement, causing a small crater where he landed. He glared up at the fallen foe. Bucky turned visible again and greeted him. “Thor.”

Thor stood and loped over to them. “James,” he greeted in turn. Bucky blinked rapidly, eyes wide. He was about to ask how the fuck Thor knew that was his first name when Thor started describing the positions of the aliens far aboveground, and Thor and Steve got into a discussion of battle plans. Their plans were momentarily interrupted by Bruce driving in on his motorcycle. Everyone turned to Bruce in surprise. Bruce strode up to them, smiling nervously, and asked what he’d missed. Steve briefed him on the battle while Natasha notified Tony that Bruce was there.

“Good,” Tony replied, “Because I’m bringing the party to you.” Iron Man appeared seconds later, coming around the corner of a skyscraper with a ginormous alien in tow.

“I fail to see how that’s a party,” Natasha griped coldly.

Steve addressed Bruce. “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

“That’s my secret, Cap,” Bruce replied, walking casually towards the ginormous roaring metallic alien. “I’m always angry.” In mere seconds, Bruce had transformed into The Hulk and was grabbing the alien’s face and roaring. He stopped the alien in its tracks, sent a shockwave rippling upwards through it, upending the thing and flipping it over onto its back. This caused an explosion. Steve held up his shield and crouched by Natasha to protect her. Bucky cast a forcefield to protect himself and Clint. Thor was far enough away that he wasn’t concerned.

When the explosion had safely ended, Iron Man landed nearby, and the seven of them stood with their backs towards the inside of the circle they formed. For the first time, they really felt like a team. The Hulk roared. Iron Man surveyed the situation. “Captain?”

Steve smiled confidently and started giving out orders.

* * *

The team fought tirelessly, slaughtering thousands of aliens. But the minutes ticked by, the alien corpses kept piling up, and as many as they killed, more and more kept pouring out of the portal. Steve kept glancing at it. Natasha was fighting nearby, face pale, sweat pouring down her forehead. Her lips was split. She wiped alien blood off her nose and glared at Steve. “None of this is gonna mean a damn thing if we don’t close that portal.” Steve agreed.

Natasha was glancing overhead at the alien vehicles zooming by. Bucky was shooting them down one by one. Natasha held up her hand. “Don’t kill the next one.” Bucky frowned at her. She was staring at the oncoming vehicle. “I’ve got an idea.” She glanced at Steve, then his shield, then up at the ship.

Steve followed her gaze. He understood. He backed against a nearby car and held his shield up at an angle.

“You sure about this?” Bucky called, staring up at the alien vehicle.

“If you’re so worried, give me a boost!” Natasha returned, running towards Steve. She springboarded off of his shield. Bucky shot a blast of energy under her feet to help her. Natasha straddled the back of the alien ship, broke the driver’s neck, threw him off the vehicle, and commandeered it. Steve and Bucky watched her in awe. When Bucky looked back at Steve, he was smiling. _Of course you’d like her for that. Punk._ More aliens were swooping in and shooting at Steve.

“Enough with the goo-goo eyes!” Bucky ground out, shooting down the aliens.

Steve held up his shield to protect both of them from the blasts of alien weapons. “Oh come on, that was awesome!”

Bucky angrily blasted an alien vehicle, blowing it and its driver to flaming smithereens.

“You’re not _jealous_ are you?”

Bucky exploded another alien vehicle, glaring. “Now why would I be jealous?”

Steve held up his shield to protect them from the explosion. “Because she’s a beautiful dame?”

Bucky exploded several alien vehicles at once, damaging the buildings nearby.

Steve figured they probably had another fifteen, twenty seconds tops before another wave of aliens approached. He dropped his shield and pulled Bucky in for an insistent kiss. He didn’t let go of Bucky’s face until the aliens were nearly upon them. Bucky swooned a bit, woozy. Steve picked up his shield and held it up to defend them from alien blasts. Bucky cleared his throat and shook his head, regaining focus, and blasted the aliens. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Steve grinned and smooched him on the cheek. Bucky grinned against his will and gently elbowed Steve. He meant to elbow him with more force but his abdominal cavity was currently full of giddy butterflies and he wanted nothing more than to back Steve against the nearest building.

Steve pulled them out of their crouch and to their feet, with one hand cupping Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s face turned red. He shoved at Steve, eyes wide, and surveyed the sky. Steve grinned. Then his grin quickly turned into a frown as he stared up at the portal. He pointed. “Isn’t that Tony?”

A familiar red-and-gold suit was flying into the portal. “Think so,” Bucky replied. “The fuck is he doing?”

“I have a nuke,” Tony said into Steve’s earpiece. “I’m gonna get rid of it.”

“Isn’t Natasha working on closing the portal?” Steve responded.

“Yup.”

“You gonna make it out in time?”

“Hope so.”

Steve exchanged a concerned look with Bucky.

“What’s he doing?” Bucky asked.

“Flying a nuclear missile into the portal.”

“Isn’t Natasha closing that?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s mouth narrowed into a grim line.

Bucky frowned, concerned, then shot an alien behind Steve. Steve turned to look at it. Bucky surveyed the oncoming wave of aliens. “Well, good luck to him. But the battle’s not over yet!”

Steve stood by Bucky’s side and continued fighting the Chitauri. They were fighting off a particularly big wave when suddenly all the aliens fell to the ground, as though powering down. Steve and Bucky exchanged a surprised glance. Then looked up at the portal. The light from the explosion of the missile was fast approaching the opening of the portal. “Close it,” Steve instructed into his earpiece.

“But what about—?” Natasha objected.

“We don’t have time. He knew the risk of going in there. Close it.”

Natasha started closing the portal. Steve and Bucky entwined their fingers, the loss of Tony surging through them. Thor landed nearby. He, too, stood and stared at the closing hole in the sky until it disappeared. Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand. Bucky squeezed back. They leaned their shoulders together.

Then Bucky spotted a red flash. He pointed at an object falling from the sky. “Is that…?”

Thor and Steve saw it too.

“Tony!” Steve exclaimed, surprised and relieved.

Thor frowned. “He’s not slowing down.”

The Hulk appeared nearby and leapt onto the nearest building. He leapt higher and higher until he caught Tony, the impact sending them shredding down several stories. Carrying him, The Hulk leapt from building to building until he landed roughly on the ground, creating craters with his feet. He set down the lifeless Iron Man suit and stared at it sadly.

“Tony—!” Steve exclaimed, worried. He knelt next to him and struggled to open the mask. Bucky knelt next to him and found the external release mechanism. The mask popped open. Tony’s eyes were closed. He wasn’t breathing. Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance.

“Want me to try CPR?” Bucky offered.

“I don’t see how that would work, with the suit…”

“Perhaps I should summon lightning with my hammer?” offered Thor.

Bucky grimaced. “I don’t see how that would help.”

The Hulk was growing impatient. He shoved Bucky roughly aside (“Hey!”) and roared in Tony’s face. Tony’s eyes popped open and he gasped an expletive. He took all of them in, wide-eyed. “What the hell was that?” He frowned at Bucky. “Who the hell are you?” He remembered and tilted his head back. “What the hell just happened?”

“We won,” Steve answered simply.

Tony nodded. “Awesome. Awesome.” He started rambling about shawarma. Said he’d never had it, but he wanted to try it.

“We’re not finished yet,” Thor reminded them.

Bucky frowned. “You’re telling me there’s _more_ aliens?”

Tony heaved a sigh. “Right. Loki.”


	10. Up All Night To Get..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike:  
> Can I tell you something?  
> For years I have envied
> 
> Sulley:  
> You're green with it
> 
> Mike:  
> Your grace and your charm  
> Everyone loves you, you know
> 
> Sulley:  
> Yes, I know, I know, I know
> 
> Mike:  
> But I must admit it  
> Big guy, you always come through  
> I wouldn't have nothing  
> if I didn't have you
> 
> Both:  
> You and me together  
> That's how it always should be  
> One without the other  
> don't mean nothing to me  
> Nothing to me
> 
> \--"If I Didn't Have You" -from the Monsters, Inc. soundtrack

* * *

Loki was surprisingly easy to defeat. Once faced with all of the Avengers at once, he merely looked up at them sheepishly and asked Tony for a drink. Sadly, no drink was forthcoming. Thor shackled his adopted brother and would have immediately returned him to Asgard, but Fury insisted on talking to them first.

The conclusion turned out being that Loki would much more fittingly be punished on Asgard, and they were permitted to return.

Everyone returned to the hotel and parted ways, entering their respective rooms for much-needed baths and changes of clothes. Steve and Bucky couldn’t help feeling sadly nostalgic for Coulson. “You never did take care of his man-crush on you,” Bucky remarked, stripping out of his boots.

“What man-crush? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve replied, smirking, as he finished removing his own boots.

“Oh please. ‘I watched you sleep’? The guy had it bad.”

“Not that you would know _anything_ about that,” Steve teased, shimmying his costume down over his hips.

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head, mussing his hair. “Not a clue.”

Steve slipped off his underwear with his costume and set it all in a pile on the floor. He stood in front of Bucky and placed his hands on his hips. “But Bucky,” Steve objected, voice light and teasing as he pulled Bucky closer until their hipbones were touching, “I would’ve had to cheat on you for that.”

Bucky wound his arms around Steve’s neck. “You’re right.” Steve leaned until their noses were touching. Bucky pushed up to meet him. “I don’t think I could take that.”

Steve tilted his head so their lips were nearly touching. “You won’t have to…”

Bucky licked his lips. “Oh? ‘zat so?”

Steve nipped Bucky’s lower lip, pulling it into his mouth as he pushed Bucky’s pants and underwear down over his hips in one smooth motion, releasing Bucky’s lip to push them down his thighs. Bucky helped Steve remove his pants and stumbled backwards into the bathroom. Steve closed the door behind them and pinned Bucky against the nearest wall, kissing him. Bucky hummed low in his throat and wound his fingers through Steve’s hair, arching into him. Steve inhaled deeply, rolling his hips, and pulled back with a sultry smirk. “You need a shower.”

Bucky returned his smirk. “Me? You’re the one who smells like he fell into a car engine.”

Steve backed them towards the shower and turned the handle. Hot water hissed through the nozzle. “Yeah but you _look_ like you did. And then got caught in the gears,” he added, stroking a cut on Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky pulled them into the shower and closed the curtain behind them. “Good thing you don’t. I’d be failing at my job to protect you.”

Steve stood with his back to the water; only the secondhand spray was hitting Bucky. He stroked Bucky’s cheekbone tenderly and kissed the scratch. “Can’t have that,” he murmured.

Bucky shoved Steve further under the water. “Stop hoggin’ the faucet, punk.”         

Water ran down Steve’s face from behind. He screwed his eyes shut tight. Bucky laughed, held his breath, leaned up, and kissed him. Water ran down his face too. Once his hair was soaked, he pulled Steve out from under the faucet and stuck out his tongue. Steve growled and shoved him against the shower wall, mouth fastening onto his, pulling Bucky’s tongue into his mouth and sucking. Bucky gasped and arched against him. His arms came up around Steve’s back. Not thinking, his fingernails scraped against Steve’s shoulderblades. Steve growled again and pushed harder against Bucky, slick and erect. Bucky shuddered, his own erection pulsing against Steve’s. Breathing heavily, Steve broke away from Bucky’s mouth to kiss a hot trail down his neck. Bucky tilted his head back, moaning. “Steve…!” Steve bit the junction between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. At the same time, he reached down with one hand and grasped both of their erections. Bucky let out a loud open-mouthed “Auh!” Steve sucked the spot he’d just bit and started stroking. Bucky’s breath hitched. “Oh god, Steve!” His eyes rolled back. Steve kissed along Bucky’s collarbone and fastened his mouth against the other side of Bucky’s neck, stroking faster and gripping tighter until they were both panting erratically. Steve raised his head and stared hazily into Bucky’s eyes, breathing through his mouth. Bucky whispered Steve’s name. Steve twisted his hand around the heads and squeezed tighter. Bucky cried out. Steve started stroking them feverishly, skin hot, breathing heavily and unevenly, moaning each other’s names until they both came. Hard.

Steve slumped against Bucky, panting and trembling. Bucky sagged against the wall, aftershocks running through him like ocean waves. They held each other until they caught their breath. Steve gazed hazily at Bucky, face still flushed.

“I thought showers were for getting clean,” Bucky quipped, voice rough.

Steve’s mouth curled into a mischievous smile only Bucky ever had the privilege of seeing. “Yes but you don’t shower unless you’ve gotten dirty.”

“Steve, that was smooth as fuck.”

“So’s your skin.”

“So’s _yours._ ”

Steve and Bucky ran their fingers down each other’s arms and torsos to demonstrate. Their eyes met. Steve smirked. “Ready to get clean?”

Bucky pulled him closer. “Nah. First we gotta get _dirty._ ”

Steve was about to laugh or protest that they’d just done that, but then Bucky’s mouth was on his, tongue hot and demanding, and any will to protest ran out of Steve’s mind and down the shower drain.

* * *

Loki was taken back to Asgard for punishment. Thor said good-bye to all of them before disappearing in a flash of rainbow light. They all exchanged a glance and shrugged it off. Clint and Natasha left in a convertible. Tony and Bruce left in another convertible. Steve was gifted with a two-seater motorcycle. He and Bucky loaded their luggage into the sidecar that came with it and took off. At first Bucky had half a mind to object to riding on the back like some dame, but as soon as his arms were around Steve’s waist and they were tearing down the highway, Bucky had absolutely nothing to complain about. Motorcycle was his new favorite form of travel.

Steve parked his motorcycle outside their apartment and helped Bucky to his feet, shooting a pointed glance at the bulge in Bucky’s jeans. Bucky grabbed their luggage and rushed up to their apartment half a step behind Steve, who unlocked the door hurriedly. They crashed through the door, slammed it behind them, and Bucky promptly dropped all their luggage on the floor and pushed Steve onto the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the couch they always watched movies on. Their mouths latched onto each other hungrily; they didn’t even get undressed all the way, just unfastened each other’s shirts and pants and started grinding desperately.

Underpants wet and sticky, breaths coming out harsh and heavy, they lay there, arms around each other, Bucky’s cheek resting on Steve’s shoulder. “You know I’m gonna be thinking about this every time we sit on this couch now,” Bucky warned.

Steve kissed the top of his head. “Good.”

Bucky laughed breathlessly. He tilted his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “So. Guess I’m an Avenger now?”

Steve smiled at him. “Yep.”

Bucky smiled lopsidedly. “Well, whaddaya think about that.”

Steve ruffled his hair fondly. “I think you deserve it.”

Bucky’s expression turned skeptical.

Steve rolled his eyes and kissed his nose. “Don’t argue with me. Or I won’t have sex with you for a week.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open in mock appallment. “You’re using sex against me?”

“Only if you don’t behave.”

Bucky lifted his head and edged higher up Steve’s body. “As if you could resist me.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

Bucky contemplated the delicacy of this situation. He knew how competitive and stubborn Steve could be. Not having sex for a week would suck. But the sex they’d have after…

Steve shook his head. “We’ve gotten off-topic. You are an Avenger and you deserve it.”

Bucky sighed. “Isn’t it kind of… I don’t know.” He stared at the couch. “I’m no hero.”

“Course you are. You fought just as hard as the rest of us out there.”

“Yeah but I fought for _you._ I couldn’t care less what S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to accomplish.”

“We’re not fighting for S.H.I.E.L.D. We’re fighting to keep people safe.”

“Isn’t that kind of selfish though…?”

Steve leveled a _seriously_ look at Bucky. “You fought alongside Tony Stark and _you’re_ afraid of being selfish?”

Bucky barked out a laugh. His head sagged against Steve’s shoulder as he continued laughing. Steve’s hand started stroking his back as he calmed down. Bucky raised his head and met Steve’s eyes again. “Touché.”

“So you’ll admit you deserve it?”

“I never said that.”

“But you do.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Bucky…” Steve warned.

“I’m not!” Bucky held up his hands. “I believe anything you say.”

Steve scrutinized Bucky’s face for a long moment. Bucky kept his face as honest as possible. Satisfied, Steve rested his head against the couch and nodded once. “Good.”

“Well,” Bucky amended, “unless it’s something you read on the internet. Gonna have to check your sources on that one.”

Steve groaned. “Not gonna let that one go are you.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You had me convinced for a week that bottled water causes cancer.”

“It seemed legit!”

“Only to find out,” Bucky said louder, “that you _knew_ it was a hoax, and you didn’t tell me for a _week._ ”

“You don’t even drink bottled water!”

Bucky smacked his shoulder. “Yeah! Because it causes cancer!”

Steve laughed.

Bucky couldn’t pretend to stay angry. Not when Steve had his head thrown back and his torso was shaking with laughter. He smiled ruefully and shook his head. “You asshole.”

Steve laughed harder. The entire couch shook. Bucky started tickling Steve under his ribs. Steve squealed in protest and started wriggling around to escape. Bucky was an expert at this. He knew all Steve’s ticklish spots. There was no way Steve was getting out of this until his sides ached from laughter. Bucky tickled him relentlessly, thrilled that the powerful body beneath him was under his control. He took advantage of the open shirt and slipped his hands inside to tickle him harder. Steve arched and wriggled and begged him to stop. Bucky sought out more ticklish spots. He didn’t stop until there were tears streaking down Steve’s face and his laughter was coming out with more breath than sound and he was wheezing out “Stop! Bucky stop!” over and over again.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, inside his shirt, and smiled triumphantly down at him. Steve caught his breath, bubbles of laughter escaping him every so often. “Can I change out of my underwear now?”

Bucky lifted his hips and pulled up the elastic waistband of Steve’s underwear. He peered inside. “Wow, you’re a mess down there.”

Steve groaned and wiggled his hips. “I know! Can I take it off?”       

Bucky let go of the elastic waistband, letting it snap against Steve’s lower stomach. “Hmmm, I don’t know…”

Steve reached up to take off his underwear. Bucky pinned his wrists to the couch. Steve struggled, not using his full strength. “Come on, Buck!” he whined.

Bucky leaned over and kissed the tip of Steve’s chin. “I think you need a shower.”

Steve stilled and met Bucky’s eyes. A slow smile spread across his face.

And then they were stumbling to the bathroom, shedding clothes and kissing as they went.


End file.
